Ashes of the Past
by Anonymous1O1
Summary: When Ash Ketchum was five, a tragic accident killed his mother and turned his life into a living hell. Forced to live with his abusive and alcoholic father, he has spent his life bending under his father's will. Now, eleven years later, it's all he can do to keep himself from going off the deep end. Can a new neighbor change that? Depressing. Don't like, don't read. TRIGGER ALERT!
1. Prologue

**Welcome to my new story! I promised my fans of TKJ this one, so here it is. If you're wondering why TKJ hasn't been updated since July, do not fear. I kind of forgot about it. I know, I know, no excuses. I am working on a chapter right now, so don't think I've given up on the story. I just wanted to get this out to ya'll, since I promised it to you. So here it is. By the way, this is now a PokeShipping story again. Sorry for changing it around so much, but the way I want this story to end isn't really possible with a yaoi pairing. I might still write a PalletShipping story in the future, though.**

 **The featured story for this chapter is Diaries of Pokemon by Weirdguy149. "** **What would happen if every Pokemon had a diary? This story will help us find out. This follows every episode of the anime." So I was thinking about this one a bit. And you know what? No one's ever really done this before, and I don't know why. It's a good idea. With there being so many Pokemon stories out there, I'm really surprised that someone hasn't turned this idea into a 112-chapter story with 300,000 words yet.**

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 _~ "Everyone can master a grief but he that has it." ~_

 _\- William Shakespeare_

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Rain pattered against the concrete, a rhythmic pattern that soothed even the deafest ears. The sound of each droplet crashing to earth brought with it the promise of something grand. For behind the clouds, a blue sky was hidden. A shiny, clear, bright blue sky that many a man had compared to life itself. The veil of blackness was like the sky's grief. It would try and fight back, moment after moment. It would cry, the shiny droplets breaking through the grief to hit the earth below it. It would breathe. In and out. In and out. Try to blow the grief away. But it never worked.

Until it did.

After a long fight that had drained all but the last droplet of life from the sky, the grief would subside. Pull away. Let the sky be happy again. The sky would recover, and its heart would start shining again. Cast its light upon the earth for all to enjoy.

But the grief would never truly go away. It would always be there. Perhaps not in a malevolent way, but just being was sometimes enough. It would always linger, waiting to prey upon the sky when it was at its weakest. Take over when the sky could do nothing but watch. There would be great moments. Moments when the sky felt like it was in complete control. That things were getting better.

But then there would always be the low points. The times when the sky just wanted to give up and let the grief consume it. Times when it let the darkness overcome it, only allowing specks of light to shine through. Shield itself with those specks of light. Keep itself hidden behind tiny promises of hope and joy. Pray that they were more than just prayers.

These thoughts were far from being comparable to those of the young boy and his mother. Their steps cut through the rhythmic song like knives, the little boy's laughing bringing a joyful side to the sky's tears.

"Mommy! Mommy! Do it again, Mommy!" he cried, arms waving through the air to create a breeze of their own.

The older woman smiled and grabbed her son's hands. "Okay, okay. Hang on! Here we... go!"

She lifted her son into the air and swung him around. He laughed. "Wheee!"

His mother chuckled. "Don't you ever tire of this?"

"No, Mommy, no! More!"

She smiled. "As long as you're having fun, dear."

 _"She was such a good mother."_

"Now, hold my hand. Busy streets are dangerous for little boys."

He interlaced their fingers, still laughing. "Okay, Mommy!"

"Don't let go now, you hear? Never let go."

"I won't, Mommy! Don't let go of my hand, either!"

She chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. "I won't. I'll never let go. I promise."

 _"She always made sure I was safe. That I always had enough to eat and drink. That I was comfortable."_

She pulled the covers up over her son. "Are you sure you're going to be alright? You've never slept without Mr. Cuddles before."

The boy puffed out his chest. "I'ma be alright, Mommy! I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself."

She smiled. "Don't grow up on me too fast, sport."

"But if I don't grow up, I can never take care of you!"

She bowed her head. "Why thank you, but I think your daddy already has that job taken."

"Oh."

She kissed him on the forehead. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm just fine. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The boy's eyes shone a little bit brighter after that. "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too."

 _She loved me so much. I loved her so much. I never thought we'd... I'd... lose her._

"Daddy, where's Mommy?"

When the boy got no response, he came closer. He had been taught never to bother his father when he was in his office, so he stayed in the doorway. "I said, Daddy, where's Mommy?"

The boy's father stared blankly out the window at the snow that fell from the darkened heavens.

"Daddy!" The boy's voice was urgent. "Tell me where Mommy is!"

Still his father was as quiet as the stars.

The boy was begging now. "Daddy, _please_ tell me where Mommy is! Please!"

His father gave him nothing.

The boy stamped his foot. "I want to know-"

The man whirled around. "Dammit, child, weren't you told never to bother me in my office?"

His child was taken aback. "But Daddy, I'm not-"

He slammed his fist down on his desk. "Don't you lie to me!"

"I'm-"

"I ought to smack you senseless for thinking you could do that to me!"

The boy began crying then. It was the only thing he knew to do to get his father to stop yelling. He always did it when arguments between his parents got out of hand, or his father got a bit too harsh when disciplining him. It always worked.

Except now.

His father streaked toward him, fist raised. "I thought I taught you better than that! I thought you were above lying!"

"I'm not a liar!" he bawled.

The man grabbed his son by the collar and held him high. "Don't you understand how terrible lying is? How could you even think of doing such a thing to your father! _Your father!_ " He was screaming now.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worst. His father had only ever hit him once, when he'd told him to go away when he was four. Even then, he hadn't been this angry.

"I thought you loved me! I thought you cared about me! I thought I could trust you!"

"Stop, Daddy, please! You're scaring me, Daddy!"

"Don't you tell me what to do! You're not my father! You're my son! _My son!_ You've disgraced me! Disgraced this family! Disgraced your mother."

They both froze when he mentioned her.

The man slowly lowered his son to the ground, eyes wide.

The boy stared at his father, shaking. "D-daddy?"

He fell to his knees, face in hands. He started sobbing, much to his son's confusion and alarm. He moved over to him, stepping fully into his office for the first and last time of his life.

"W-where's Mommy, Daddy?"

He looked up at his son, eyes brimmed with tears. "She's gone."

"Gone? Gone where, Daddy?"

"Just... gone."

 _"That was the first time things went bad. Things were never right with my father after that. He never told me how my mother died. He didn't even tell me that she died. Just that she went away. It wasn't until I found an old newspaper a few weeks later that I realized where she went. When my father found out that I knew, life became hell for me. He tormented me._

 _Things only got worse when he discovered alcohol. He drowned himself in it every night. I'd come home from school and he'd be sitting with a bottle in his hand at the kitchen table. He'd ask me how my day went. Even if I told him nothing happened, he'd find some fault with what I'd done that day and beat me for it. If he couldn't find anything, he'd just beat me for the heck of it. If I ever asked him why, he'd beat me again. Over and over. Never ending. I still don't even know how she died. I don't dare to try and find out. Even if I used the most secure method possible, he'd still find out. And he'd beat me. Over and over again. Until I was dead on the floor, if he had to. Anything to prove he was superior. That he was in control. I was his prisoner, and there was nothing I could do about it."_

 _"Daddy, where's Mommy?"_

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 **I hope you all liked this. The dialogue that was in italics was narration from present-day Ash, while the rest took place before and right after his mother's death, all when he was five. Please, no flame reviews. I know that this chapter is short, but prologues usually are. This is also the type of thing you can't stretch out for too long, or else it starts to lose its emotion. The rest of the chapters (with maybe a few exceptions) will be longer. And TKJ fans, do not despair. I am coming, I promise.**


	2. I

**Hello and welcome back! Just a warning to everyone, there's going to be a lot of child abuse, swearing, and drinking from this point on. If any of those things bother you, turn away now. Any reviews that flame me for including such topics will be deleted. You have been warned.**

 **This story currently has 4 reviews, 10 followers, and 11 favorites. Thank you!**

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Aaml mania - Thank you! Yeah, at first this story took place in the Pokemon world, but now I guess it's just Pokemon humans in the real world?**

 **arcanineandlucariofan - Thank you, and I hope you like my other stories!**

 **SteamPunkHillbilly - I'm glad to know you'll be a returning reader!**

 **JordanMax - Thank you! As for Ash falling into the alcohol trap like his father has, I guess you'll just have to wait and see ;)**

 **The featured story for this chapter is I Love by JordanMax. "Pokeshipping 3 Shot. Misty and Ash both confess that they like each other except both of them don't know it, yet. AAML." So this is basically a very simple three shot about Ash and Misty admitting their feelings about each other... but not to each other. It's really cute, and Chapter 2 is a plus for any of you out there who are like me and hate AmourShipping. Plus, JordanMax is a friend of mine, so... yeah. Read the story. Do it. Do it now. I'll wait. / pulls out popcorn**

 **Okay, so you're back? Let's get started, then.**

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 _~ "What fascinates me about addiction and obsessive behavior is that people would choose an altered state of consciousness that's toxic and ostensibly destroys most aspects of your normal life, because for a brief moment you feel okay." ~_

 _\- Moby_

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I wrapped my hand around the doorknob. My teeth gnashed at my inner cheek as I tried to think of what to say to my father. I didn't even need to ask myself the question of whether or not he knew. Because I knew he did. He always found out, one way or the other.

 _What do I say? What **can** I say? "Hey, Dad, I punched a kid at school today and got sent to in-school. Hope you aren't mad."_

Maybe silence was the best thing. Maybe he'd be so drunk he wouldn't even notice me. Maybe I could sneak up to my room and lock the door. My father had this weird habit of never bothering me if my door was locked. I guess he assumed I was doing homework or something. Maybe I could make it up there in time. Stay up there for the night, and sneak back down in the morning when he was passed out drunk.

I opened the door.

I held my breath when I saw the silhouette of my father in the kitchen. He was slouched over something, probably the sink, and I could hear moaning sounds. Great. So he wasn't drunk. Just in a hangover. Fucking great.

He must have heard me come in, since the silhouette started moving, eventually becoming a person. My father was still in his sleepwear, which told me he _really_ must not be feeling well. He never stayed in his pajamas past nine o'clock.

He stopped right in front of me. I could feel his hot breath on my forehead.

He drew his arm back and punched me. I fell to the floor, instinctively grabbing at my face.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" he screamed. "I thought I told you never to talk to any of those fucking students! I told you to stay out of their god damn business, and what did you do? You fucking punched one of them! Fighting _and_ disobedience!? Fuck!"

He grabbed the collar of my shirt and dragged me across the floor. Years ago, I would have struggled. Now, I stayed quiet, the knowledge of what was to come forming a pit in my stomach so deep you could have fit a house in it.

He dragged me all the way out into the garage, to where he had his little "discipline center" set up. It wasn't anything like those torture chambers you see in the movies, of course, but it was bad enough. He had various tools there that he loved to use to set me straight.

My father threw me against the table he had there. The hard edge of it jammed against my stomach, knocking the breath right out of me.

"Take your shirt off," he ordered.

I shuddered, but did as he asked. Now that I truly knew what he had in store for me, I began to shake. He only used this punishment when I did something terribly wrong, which in his eyes was about once a month.

The first time it connected with my back was the most startling. It always was. The impact of the belt against my bare skin sent a jolt up my spine that made my knees buckle. I fell to the floor, inadvertently giving him better access to my back.

I'd heard from some kid once that a long time ago, kids who misbehaved used to get smacked with a belt like this. I guess it was purely for the purpose of making sure they never did such things again.

That wasn't the case with my father. I had pretty much convinced myself by this point that he thoroughly enjoyed these activities. The thought of someone actually enjoying something like this made me sick.

He usually only did it ten or eleven times, but this time he went beyond that. I guess he was really pissed. By the twelfth or thirteenth stroke I was seeing spots. I had lasted longer this time than I normally did, but I couldn't last forever. By this point I was biting my tongue so hard I drew blood. It was the only thing I could do to stop myself from screaming, since I knew I'd get it ten times worse if I did anything to alert the neighbors that something was going on next door.

Finally, after what I believed to be about twenty strokes, my father stopped. I collapsed flat on the floor as I heard him put the belt back on its rack. The clicking of his shoes as he walked away was like music to my ears.

I remained still until I heard the garage door slam. It was only then that I tried to move. If he came back and saw me still laying in the same position, he'd beat me again for being a weak coward who couldn't tolerate any pain. It hurt like hell to move even a centimeter, but I did.

Through the spots that were still dancing sporadically across my vision I managed to find my shirt. Pulling it over my head, I fell against the wall. Tears began replacing the spots, and I allowed myself to sob quietly.

My father never let me have any friends at school. He forbid me to talk to any of my classmates, and even checked up with each of my teachers every day to make sure I was following his orders. The only person I was allowed to talk to was my cousin Jerry, but that was because he was a straight A student and my father thought he'd be a good influence on me. Even then, my father always had to be in the same room as me whenever I Skyped him or talked to him on the phone.

My classmates usually never bullied me, but today one of them did. Gary Oak, a former prep student, decided at lunch that it would be funny to "accidentally" bump into me and dump the contents of my tray all over me. I was already in a touchy mood after a confrontation with my father right before I had left that morning, so I guess it just made me explode. I threw the tray to the side and socked him. Do I regret it?

Yes.

Sometimes I really wondered if I would be better off dead. My father obviously cared nothing for me, and saw me as just another waste of oxygen. He viewed every human being except for himself that way. I was only good for entertainment and doing the dishes. That was it.

I must have drifted off, since the next thing I knew there was orange light coming through the glass panels in the garage door. I breathed in the cool, musty air, relishing in the fact that I was alone.

I wasn't sure how long it was before I came to my senses and realized where I was. Everything came swimming back into focus, making my head hurt. I went to stand up, only to fall back again when pain shot up my back in a thousand tiny arcs.

"Shit," I muttered. I tipped my head back and focused on a beam that ran along the ceiling. My hands formed fists as I tried to overcome the pain, my nails biting into my skin.

I knew that I had to get up, or else my father would be back out here. The last thing I needed was another belting.

"Alright, Ash," I said. "You can do this. One... Two... Three!"

I groaned as I pushed myself into a crouching position. The pain returned, this time sharper than ever. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the feeling of the concrete beneath my fingertips.

"Come on, Ash," I encouraged myself. "Halfway there."

My whole body shook as I lifted my hands and stood up. I stumbled, and found myself leaning against my father's Volkswagen. Oh, how I'd pay for that later.

Once I was sure I was okay, I started moving toward the door. Every step was an effort as the pain threatened to overcome me. I guess I never realized how much I really did use my back until it hurt.

"Fuck," I spat, gritting my teeth. "Come on, Ash, come on!"

After what felt like four lifetimes I finally reached the door to the house. Opening it, I stumbled inside.

The entire downstairs was dark, which told me one of two things. Either my dad was out at some bar, or he was up in his office.

Praying for the former, I inched my way toward the stairs. Despite the fact that my throat felt like the Sahara, I didn't dare take a drink. I was afraid that if my father heard me down here, he might come and beat me again. Holding my breath, I tiptoed over to where my father had thrown my backpack.

As I passed the stairs, I looked up. The lights were all off, although the door to my father's office was closed. That signaled that he was inside. I felt a bit disappointed that he wasn't gone for the night, but it didn't matter. Either way, he was still drowning himself in alcohol. He thought I didn't know about his secret stash, but I did.

The fact that he was home, and that my room was right next to his office, left me two options. One, I sneak down to the basement and stay down there until I was sure my dad had enough time to get drunk and thus lose his awareness. Or two, I sneak out to the park and stay there until the same time.

I chose the park.

Picking my backpack up off the floor, I quietly opened the front door. Fortunately for me, the front door didn't squeak and groan like most of the other doors in our house did. That was at least one thing that wasn't wrong in my life.

Once I got outside, I was home free. The window of my father's office faced away from the street, so there was no way he'd see me. I started toward the park.

I made slow progress, since the pain in my back made it difficult for me to walk. As I passed by the old Hanley place next door, I thought I saw movement in the front window. I blinked in confusion at that. Mr. Hanley had died two years ago, and his house had been empty ever since. I'd never seen a "For Sale" sign or anything, so I was confused as to who it was inside. Probably just some trashy teen smoking weed and drinking.

Things like that were typical around this neighborhood. Things used to be better when I was seven or eight, but lately a lot of druggies and ex-criminals had moved in. My classmates were getting worse and worse. Gary wasn't even close to the worst person in my school.

When I got to the park, I tried to find a secluded spot where I wouldn't be disturbed. The last thing I needed was to end up in the middle of some drug deal or gang fight. There was a reason only teenagers hung out at this park.

I eventually found a spot for myself underneath a big old oak tree. I cared a lot about the environment, so it really pissed me off to see how many bad words and inappropriate drawings people had carved into the bark over the years.

I eased myself down onto the grass and pulled out the first book I grabbed. Trigonometry. Great. My favorite subject.

I was just getting into the first few problems when a shadow cascaded over my view. I looked up, an annoyed phrase on the tip of my tongue, when I saw who it was.

It was a girl. I didn't recognize her, but she looked to be about my age. She had hair as red-hot as my father's temper, and bright, friendly green eyes that seriously contrasted her hair. She gave me a smile.

"Hello. Can I sit down with you?"

I looked at her, startled. No one ever asked to sit down with me. Anyone who ever came up to me just wanted to spit in my face or make fun of my introvertedness (which was not by choice). And even that rarely happened.

She clearly was waiting for an answer, so I gave her one.

"Uh... sure?"

She happily sat herself down right beside me. Like, _right_ beside me. I shuffled away from her a bit, slightly uncomfortable at how friendly she was being.

"So you're doing Trig homework? I was really good in Trig. I could help you."

I blinked several times. I shifted my back against the bark of the tree in an effort to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Sure enough, pain shot through my back. I winced.

She looked at me, concerned. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, gritting my teeth.

She pulled something out from her back pocket. A pencil. "Here, let me help you. I know exactly how to do this question."

I stared at her. "O-kay."

She turned my notebook in her direction and started writing things down. I watched her with interest. I wasn't the best Trig student by any means, so the fact that this girl was so good at it was impressive.

Within mere minutes, she was done. "There. See how I did it?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. _Come on, Ash, talk to her._

"Um, uh, well, yeah. I mean, I uh, I didn't need help, but uh, thanks."

She looked over the previous question, her eyebrows raising. "Don't need help? This question is wrong."

I got defensive then. "How do you know? What are you, a walking answer key or something?"

She looked at me, surprised. I guess she hadn't been expecting such a response from someone like me.

She pushed my notebook back toward me. "I'll leave you alone, then."

It took me longer than it should have to stop her. "Wait, wait."

She stopped. "What?" Her voice was short, which made me feel bad. _Nice going, stupid. Now you've put her in a bad mood._

I sighed. "I didn't mean to be so short. I'm sorry if I offended you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you have trouble with bullies?"

Out of all of the questions she could have asked, that one surprised me the most. "Uh, what?"

"I said, do you have trouble with bullies?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. Do you? Because if you do, I can help."

 _What is up with this girl and helping me?_ "I'm fine."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"'I'm fine' means 'No'."

"'No' means 'No'."

I huffed. "Whatever. No, then, okay?"

She huffed herself. "Sorry for asking."

I ignored her and went back to looking at my homework.

"I'm talking to you."

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Fine then."

As I heard her walking away, she said something else. "You're welcome, by the way."

I looked up at her sharply. She had her back turned to me, so I stuck my tongue out at her. Childish, yes, but justified.

I was really starting to think by that point that someone had put her up to that or something. Offered her drug money in exchange for coming up and trying to help the weird kid fix all his problems. I was almost tempted to go after her and deal with her the same way I had dealt with Gary, but I didn't. God only knew what my father would do to me if I punched a girl.

I finished up with my Trig homework, and moved on to Chemistry and English. Thankfully, that stupid girl never came back. That just further solidified my belief that someone had put her up to coming up to me. No one ever approached me out of their own good will. It was a crime in today's society to ever be caught within a five foot radius of the weird kid.

By the time I finished my homework, it was totally dark out. The only light I had was from the lightposts dotting the park, which made me feel slightly uneasy. Not because I expected some rapist to come out and assault me, but because night was when all the drug deals started. I guess doing it at night meant they were less likely to get caught or something. However, they normally stayed away from me. Thank God.

Nonetheless, I hurried out of there as soon as my homework was done. As I walked, I realized that I forgot to ask the girl's name. I didn't know why, but it bothered me that I had forgotten to do that. I wanted to know her name. Why? I wasn't sure, but I had the idea that it was so I could more easily get revenge on her for tricking me like she had. I had genuinely thought for a while that she was actually a nice person.

It was stupid of me to think that.

When I got home, I saw my dad getting into one of his friends' cars. I stayed off of the sidewalk, crouching next to some bushes. It surprised me that my father was going out after what I assumed to have been a night spent drinking. Maybe he'd finally drink himself to death and I'd be done with him.

Of course, everyone knew my luck was never that good.

When my father's friend's car went by, I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. It was only then that I realized that I was hiding in front of the old Hanley place. That house creeped the hell out of me at night. It hadn't been touched in two years, so the grass had grown up knee-high and the porch roof was caving in. One of the second story windows was smashed from when some kid threw something at it a few months ago. I chuckled a bit as I recalled how my father took after him. He didn't catch him, of course, since all of the drinking my father did had put him relatively out of shape. It was still a good memory, though.

Despite my logical half telling me to leave, my eyes stayed glued on the Hanley house. Everyone in school loved to spread rumors about how the Hanley place was haunted, and all that shit. People told some pretty ridiculous stories about the house. One particularly outrageous one said that apparently at night, an axe can be seen floating freely around the room, chopping invisible heads off. Blood could be seen flying all around whenever the axe moved, and creaking sounds could be heard all through the night. The story also claimed that during the day, the axe hid in the basement, waiting to chop off the heads of anyone who tried to venture into its territory. And the worst part?

Everyone believed it.

Everyone except for me, of course. I was really the only logical one in my entire school.

A loud bang brought my attention back to the present. I jumped, immediately thinking that someone was inside. I tried to relax, telling myself that it was just some raccoon or stray cat or something. I almost had myself convinced when something else happened.

A light turned on.

I bolted.

That was one of the few times I ever felt actually relieved to be in my house. I leaned against the door once I was inside, trying to calm myself down. I was the type of person who got scared easily, and tended to suffer from panic attacks when I did. Thank God my dad wasn't home. He'd beat me for being scared, even though he had a very apparent train phobia himself. Whenever we passed over train tracks in the car, he'd go at like two miles an hour and be breathing heavy and sweating and all that shit. It was amusing, but of course I didn't dare laugh.

As soon as I had calmed myself down, I was upstairs and in my room. I locked the door behind me, thanking God that I had been able to avoid my father ever since the belting. That usually didn't happen. I just hoped he'd stay drunk long enough for me to be able to get to school unnoticed tomorrow.

I threw my backpack in the corner and collapsed on my bed. My bed was probably my favorite object in our entire household. Most boys my age would say their Xbox, or their phone, or their car. But for me, it was my bed. It was the only place where I truly felt safe. I knew that my dad would never bother me if my door was locked, and especially not if I was in bed. It was a strange habit, but one I appreciated. He'd probably be so drunk he wouldn't even notice that the door was locked, anyway.

I turned off the light and closed my eyes, not even bothering to change into my pajamas. I was just so tired. Everything that had happened today, from Gary to my dad to the girl, had worn me out. On top of that, I had a big Trigonometry test the following day that I was sure I was going to fail. I sucked at testing. It made me nervous, and when I got nervous, my brain shut down. It was one of the reasons as to why I was never able to stand up to my father. Well, that and the fact that he was a foot taller than me and had an arsenal of tools to use to his defense.

The last thought that came to my mind that night was the girl. I wondered again what her name was. I hated her, of course, just like I hated everyone else. But something about her made me curious. It piqued my interest to know that someone out there was actually getting people to come up to me and act like they cared. I had no idea what they were getting in return, but it was still interesting. I mean, I wasn't the only weirdo in my school. As I drifted off to sleep, a single question came to my mind.

 _Who was that girl?_

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 **Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed that chapter. I was trying to think of a way that Ash's father could abuse him outside of just punching, kicking, and screaming, and belting came to mind. I avoided being descriptive with it for any of you who are sensitive about that stuff, but I did warn you. Just know that stuff like that isn't always going to be happening. Like Ash said, his father saves the belting for when Ash does really bad things. Like punching a kid in school, for instance. Anyways, pushing that aside, I just wanted to thank ya'll again for reviewing, favoriting, and following. See ya next time!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Pokemon_ , or anything else you recognize in here. All rights go to their respective owners.**


	3. II

**Hello again! I'm back with another chapter. Once again, I'm going to warn you all about the mature content in this story. If you are sensitive about heavy drinking, swearing, or child abuse, I highly recommend turning away now. Shoutouts for this chapter:**

 **Aaml mania - Yes, Ash's father is extremely abusive. But hey, maybe there's some hope with that new girl.**

 **JordanMax - Yeah, hopefully one day when he's older Ash will muster up enough courage to retaliate for all the pain his father caused him.**

 **Alina 122 - Thank you!**

 **This story currently has 7 reviews, 20 followers, and 18 favorites. Thank you!**

 **The featured story for this chapter is Fanfiction is SO Cliched by Bittersweet Romanticide. "** **Cliches are the backbone and life blood of fanfiction, they're what keeps a steady stream of new writers pouring in. Even for veterans of the site, these horrible tropes will catch up to everyone sooner or later. All pairings and most suggestions taken." Okay, so I've read three or four of these shots already, and they're hilarious! Not all are PokeShipping, but that's okay.**

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 _"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." ~_

 _\- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

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I closed my locker, trying to ignore the laughter that was going on all around me. Just moments before, one of the big jock kids, Paul, had tripped one of the nerds in the hallway. The nerd had fallen, dumping his books everywhere and breaking his glasses. Paul had then picked him up and thrown him in the nearest trash can. The rest of Paul's jock friends had all gathered around to point and laugh at the little scene.

It pissed me off, of course, but what was I supposed to do? After what happened with Gary, I wasn't about to go meddling. Especially not when the principal had threatened suspension if I should get in another fight. I could only imagine what my father would do to me if that happened.

Skirting around the chaos, I shuffled toward my next class. Chemistry. My _favorite_ class.

I was one of the last kids to arrive. Everyone turned to look at me as I walked in, the bell ringing alongside my entrance. The teacher, Mr. Gavin, gave me a look of disapproval. I ignored him and sat down at my desk in the back of the room.

As soon as I was seated, Mr. Gavin began going through attendance. "Lexi Addams."

"Here."

I leaned against my desk, already bored.

"Benjamin Array."

"Here."

"Kelsey Bea."

"Here!"

I yawned. I never could figure out why teachers did attendance. Sure, it mattered the first day, but after that? Why couldn't they just do it themselves? It had been three weeks since the start of school. They should know everyone's faces by now.

"Ash Ketchum."

"Here," I muttered.

As Mr. Gavin continued droning through the attendance, I took my pencil and resumed yesterday's work. I'd been working on a little art project for the past three school days. After being fascinated with the drawings on and etched into my desk, I'd decided to add my own. After some thought, I'd decided to etch the word "Chemistry" in the wood, only to then cross it out. I know, I know. Not much in the way of protest. But it was something.

I was just finishing the "m" when someone came crashing in through the door. I looked up.

I dropped my pencil.

There, completely out of breath and carrying a typical load of textbooks, was the red-head from two days ago. What was _she_ doing here?

Mr. Gavin looked equally surprised. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Is this Regents Chemistry?"

He nodded. "Yes, it is, but... I don't have you on my roster."

She blinked. "The office told me that I was to come here now, since there was a mix-up in my schedule that put me in the wrong Science class."

I snorted. Typical.

Mr. Gavin shrugged. "If you say so. Please, take a seat anywhere. We were just about to go over last night's homework."

She nodded and began scanning the classroom, looking for a good place to sit. I crossed my fingers, praying that she wouldn't choose the one next to me.

But of course, she did.

"Hi," she whispered. "Remember me?"

I ignored her.

"It's me," she pressed. "The girl who helped you with your Trig homework at the park." She leaned closer. "You _must_ remember me."

I snapped my head to look at her. "Yeah, I do. You're the girl that decided to barge into my life and tell me how to do my Trig."

She looked rather taken aback. "I was being helpful."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you were welcomed."

"What's the matter with you? Treating someone who was just being nice to you so poorly? No wonder you don't have any friends."

I flinched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ that you're an inconsiderate jerk!"

"Me? What about you!? I'm not the one who barged into your life! You barged into mine, and now you're doing it again! Just leave me alone!"

"You're seriously pushing away the only person that's probably ever tried being nice to you?"

"Yes, I am."

She stared at me incredulously before huffing and turning back toward the front of the room. Mr. Gavin was drawing out an s orbital and explaining the answer to one of the homework problems. I hardly could pay him any attention, for I was too mad.

 _What the hell is her problem? Why can't she just leave me alone? I don't need her. I don't need friends. I've been perfectly fine just the way I am for eleven years. My life may be broken, but that doesn't mean it needs any fixing._

"Mr. Ketchum!" Mr. Gavin's sharp voice broke through my angry thoughts.

I sighed. "Yeah?"

"Don't 'yeah' me, mister. I told you to do something."

I just looked at him.

He groaned. "Come up here to the board and draw out the electron configuration for question number nine."

Although I looked nothing more than annoyed on the outside, inside I felt a flash of panic. I almost always got the homework questions wrong. Not because I was stupid, but because I found it hard to concentrate with the threat of my father looming over my head. Feigning confidence, I pulled out my homework and walked up to the front of the classroom.

With the eyes of Mr. Gavin and all of the students on me, I began to write. I forced my hand to stay steady as I drew the arrows and marked them appropriately. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought it was going to explode. By the time I pulled the marker away from the board, I was almost certain I had suffered a heart attack.

Mr. Gavin studied the answer I had written for several moments. I held my breath for all of that time, wondering. If I got it wrong - which I probably did - then my classmates would laugh and my teacher would scowl. I'd be sent back to my seat with the assurance that I'd fail the Regents at the end of the year. And, new to me this day, I would be forced to sit through another argument with that girl.

Mr. Gavin smiled. "Correct."

I stared at him. Correct? "What?"

He chuckled. "I said, correct. Well done, Mr. Ketchum. You may return to your seat."

Still in a daze, I walked back to my seat and put my homework away. As I passed the red-head, I thought I noticed some wetness on her cheek. Shrugging it off as me seeing things, I sat down and tried to focus on my teacher.

However, as the time ticked by and Mr. Gavin chugged through a lesson on mixtures and compounds, I started hearing sniffling. At first, I ignored it. However, it became progressively louder, eventually drawing the attention of the students in front of us. One of them even turned around and told her to go blow her nose or something. She didn't, of course, which only lead to more snuffling.

Finally, fed up with it, I turned toward her. "Will you cut that out?"

She looked at me, her eyes red and puffy. "What?"

"Cut out the snuffling. It's distracting and annoying."

She turned back to the front of the room. After several moments, she said, "You really have a way with words, _Mr. Ketchum_."

I stiffened. However, she said nothing further.

Only five more minutes had to pass before the bell rang. As we walked out the door, Mr. Gavin handed us all that night's homework assignment. Ten questions from the textbook. No surprise. That guy lived off of textbook questions.

I put my textbook and folder back in my locker, pulling out my lunch in its place. Since my dad was concerned more about his alcohol than he was about me, he had never bothered to buy me an actual lunch bag. Rather, I had to bring my lunch in either a brown paper bag or a plastic one. Fun.

I walked down to the cafeteria and took my place at my usual table. As you probably have come to expect by now, no one bothered to sit with me. Of course, I didn't care. The less I had to socialize with the other students, the better. _Especially_ that stupid girl.

Speaking of stupid people, Gary and his friends came in not too long after me. They were all laughing about something. Gary was holding the hand of some girl, probably a cheerleader. She looked bubbly enough to be one. I watched as they all settled around one of the tables.

"So then I was like, 'dude, do you even lift'?" Everyone burst out laughing at Gary's statement. I rolled my eyes.

"Dude, that's like, totally awesome." One of his friends punched him in the shoulder. Gary reacted by taking the salami off of his sandwich and throwing it at his friend. What a waste.

I pulled my own sandwich out of my bag, a PB&J one I had made that morning. Ever since I was little, PB&J had been my favorite. My mom always used to make it for me when I was hungry. She'd even be willing to make it when I wasn't. I guess that memory was part of the reason why I brought it for lunch every day.

"Eating peanut butter and jelly again, Ketchum?"

I looked up. Gary and two of his friends were standing at my table, looking smug. Before I could react, Gary snatched my sandwich right out of my hands.

"Hey!" I cried. "That's mine!"

He waved it around. "What'cha gonna do about it, Ketchum? Punch me like you did the other day?"

His friends snickered.

I stood up. "Maybe!"

He laughed. "Yeah, you do that. I'd just love to see your ass get suspended. Right, guys?"

His friends nodded their agreement. I balled my fists.

"Aww," Gary cooed. "Is the little Ashy-boy upset? D'aww, look boys! I think he's gonna have a temper tantrum!"

I made a grab for my sandwich then. Gary moved it out of reach, holding it high above my head.

"Careful, Ketchum. Don't wanna get in trouble again."

I clenched my teeth.

"What's going on here?"

Everyone turned. One of the lunch ladies, Judy, was storming over to us. She looked pissed. I opened my mouth to say something, but Gary beat me to it.

"Ash dropped his sandwich on the floor and then tried to eat it again, so I took it away from him. You know, to keep him from getting sick."

Judy looked at me, appalled. "How disgusting!"

I gawked at her. She wasn't about to buy this shit, was she?

She took the sandwich from Gary, who handed it to her politely. "I'll be disposing of this in the trash." She waved the food at me. "Don't eat food off the floor, Ketchum. It's unsanitary."

I watched in complete shock as she walked over and threw the sandwich in the trash. Gary smirked at me and walked back to his table. I glared at him as he left, furious.

Gary Motherfucking Oak.

Angry enough to punch a wall but not stupid enough to do so, I sat back down. Ripping open my bag of chips, I took out my anger on those. Every snap of a chip brought with it fantasies of Gary's neck snapping in my hands. Oh, how sweet that would be.

I had almost finished snapping every chip into tiny bits when something plopped down on my table. A sandwich. Confused, I looked up. The red-head was walking by, clearly the one who dropped the food onto my table.

 _She's still trying? Seriously?_

Finding that fact comical, I unwrapped the sandwich and bit into it hungrily. I watched over my sandwich as the girl settled down at a table with one other girl- a brunette named May. They immediately began laughing, popping cookies into their mouths. I felt angry at that.

Had May put her up to that? Had she dared her to give me her sandwich or something? Was that why they were laughing? Was she only being kind to me as some part of big, elaborate dare?

I was pretty sure by that point that was the case. And of course, it bothered me for the rest of the day. So much so that, during dismissal, I waited outside the high school for her to emerge.

She eventually did, still with that girl May. I stood up, ready to ambush her as soon as she was alone.

Finally, she was. A smile crept its way onto my face as May got into a car and was driven away.

I stalked over to her and pushed her rather roughly. She stumbled, turning to look at me.

"Why the hell did you give me your food?"

She blinked.

"I asked you a question!"

She sighed. "Calm down, Ketchum. I only gave it to you because I was trying to be nice. I saw what happened with that kid, and I felt bad."

"Is that all? Or is there something more?"

"Why would there be something more? Seriously, you need to stop being so judgmental."

"I'm not being judgmental."

She laughed coldly. "Oh really?"

"Really. I want to know. Is this whole kindness thing real? Or is it just one big joke for your own entertainment?"

 _That_ pissed her off.

The next thing I knew, I lying face-down on the concrete. I groaned and turned over. The girl was standing over me, her hand raised in a fist. She stared at me for several moments before huffing and walking away. I sat up, glaring after her.

 _Fuck her and her theatrics. Seriously._

On the way home, I kicked over a total of three trash cans, trampled one flower bed, and screamed four times.

Upon entering my home, I saw that my dad was in the living room. When I saw the clarity in his eyes, I took in a sharp breath. He wasn't in a hangover _or_ in a drunken spell.

Why?

As if he could read my mind, he said, "Get upstairs and take a shower. Put on your best clothes. We're going out to eat tonight."

I stared at him, shocked. He glared at me. "Well? Don't make me repeat myself."

I darted upstairs.

We were going out to dinner? We _never_ did that. I began to panic as I wondered what it could mean. Did 'going out to dinner' really mean getting a beating that would surpass all others? I tried to think of something that I had done. Had someone seen the girl punching me and assumed that we had gotten into a fight? Had Judy reported the incident at lunch? Was my father under the false belief that I was eating food off the floor?

I couldn't stop myself from shaking out of fear as I showered and changed. It had been ages since I had worn my suit, but I still fit into it. Barely, but it was enough. I shuddered as I thought of the torture I was likely to suffer in it. Hesitantly, I made my way downstairs.

My father was dressed up in a seersucker shirt and dress pants, which made this whole thing even more weird. I gave him a cautious look as I approached him.

He glanced at me. "Are you ready?" His voice was rough. Threatening a beating if I wasn't.

I nodded, swallowing hard.

He grunted. "Good. Now, be on your best behavior. I needn't remind you what will happen if you aren't."

No, he didn't.

Trying to fight back the fear that was threatening to overcome me, I followed him outside. I went toward his car, only for him to roughly grab me and shove me toward the sidewalk.

I blinked, confused. However, I did not question it. I simply continued to follow him.

I nearly screamed when I saw where we were going.

The old Hanley place.

I tried to back away, only for my father to grab my shoulder. He shook me harshly. "Behave," he snapped. "None of this nonsense about the Hanley place being haunted. There are new people living here, and you are to treat them with respect. Understood?"

I nodded, my eyes wide with fear.

My father walked up onto the old porch and knocked. I stood close to the steps, ready to run if something did indeed happen. I may not believe the axe story, but that didn't mean I didn't believe the stories about the gangs and the drug deals and the murders."

A few minutes later, a tall woman with brown hair answered the door. She looked to be about my father's age, maybe younger. She was wearing a stained apron over nice clothes. She smiled when she saw my dad and me.

"Ah, Mr. Ketchum. It's a pleasure to see you."

My father reached out and shook her hand, an odd gesture for him. I gave the woman a kind smile, remembering my father's warning.

"Please, come inside."

My father went in without a moment's hesitation, while I waited a moment. The idea of going into the Hanley place was terrifying, even if it was inhabited again. I couldn't help but wonder this woman's motives for moving into such a place as I stepped inside.

The entire first floor was washed in a dim orange. The living room was quite modernized for such a house. A flatscreen T.V. was mounted over the fireplace, and leather couches were placed around. A fancy rug sat beneath a mahogany coffee table.

The woman gestured toward the room. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. My daughter and husband will be in soon. They were just helping me prepare dinner."

My father gave her a kind smile, one that projected forth a man that was the complete opposite of who he was. I found myself growing even more agitated as he and I settled down on the living room couch, albeit far away from each other.

The silence between us was agonizing. I wanted so badly to turn on the T.V., so as to draw attention away from the silence. However, I did not. While my father would not say anything now, I knew I would be punished for it later. When we were visiting someone, I was not to do anything unless invited to do so first.

The silence was getting to the point where it was completely unbearable when something happened. Just as the woman had promised, her husband and daughter soon arrived in the living room. I turned to greet them in the polite way my mother had taught me. However, there was no need for such formalities.

The girl standing before me now, the daughter of these two people and my new neighbor, was the red-haired girl from school.

* * *

 **Dun dun dun! Ash's new neighbor turns out to be the exact person he can't stand. Perhaps things will begin to change now that he knows of this truth?**

 **Stay tuned for more!**

 **\- Anonymous1O1**


	4. III

**Hello everyone. Before I begin this chapter, I want to address an accusation that was made against me in a review after I posted Chapter 2.**

 **The review criticized me for my title choice, Ashes of the Past, and stated that I was trying to capitalize off of another story's success and should change my title. I am well aware of the fact that there is another story with the same title as mine, and that it is one of the most popular Pokemon stories on this site. However, I am not trying to capitalize off of it by naming my story what it is. I simply named it Ashes of the Past because it reflects the awful event that set the story in motion. I would never, ever try to capitalize off of another story's success, and to be accused of doing such is hurtful. I understand why some might think I am, but please remember that I take pride in my stories, not someone else's. You also cannot copyright a title; there are likely many other stories out there that are called Ashes of the Past or something similar. That doesn't mean the author is plagiarizing or whatever. I sent a PM to this reviewer in an attempt to work things out, but never received a response.**

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Red the Pokemon Master - I hope everyone's okay! And I really want to know what your idea is...**

 **Alina 122 - Thank you! I plan on continuing to write for as long as possible :)**

 **JordanMax - Thank you! I'm just as excited as you are! And I'm pretty sure both Misty and Ash are having a serious WTF moment.**

 **Aaml mania - Yep!**

 **Vaporean - Thanks a bunch!**

 **Guest - Glad you're enjoying it!**

 **Cyan Quartz - Thank you very much! Honestly, I've wanted to write an angst story for a while now. I wrote a brief one for the Danny Phantom fandom, but that was just a one-shot. You're welcome to read it if you like my darker side ;). Anyway, I have a lot of problems (non-abusive) with my own dad, so maybe that was a bit of inspiration? Honestly, it was probably just a shower idea.**

 **Alina 122 - Yeah, I have a tendency to update either really frequently or really infrequently. My oldest fans are probably used to it by now lol**

 **Guest - I'm tryin'.**

 **This story currently has 18 reviews, 23 favorites, and 25 followers. Thank you!**

 **The featured story for this chapter is The Complexity of a Ketchum Man by MilkywayScribbles. "Misty never had anyone fill in the role of her father once he passed away. But can her boyfriend's father somehow manage to do so by just giving some simple advice?" So this is a Misty-side PokeShipping one-shot that takes place in the same universe as the author's other stories. However, it can be read without having any familiarity with these other stories. I read it, and was impressed. Check it out!**

* * *

 _~ "I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature." ~_

 _\- Paulo Coelho_

* * *

I stared at the girl in complete, utter horror. _She_ was the daughter? _She_ was my new neighbor? What the hell?

I could feel my father's sharp gaze staring into my back, so I stood up. Extending my hand, I cleared my throat and said, "Good evening. My name is Ash Ketchum. It's a pleasure to meet you both." I gave the girl a hard stare, warning her not to get too dramatic or else.

The girl's father took my hand and shook it. "The pleasure's all mine, Ash. I'm Mr. Waterflower, but please, call me Dan. Misty has told me some about you. She says that the two of you go to school together, hm?"

I nodded. "That's right, sir."

At that moment, my father stepped up beside me. "Thank you for having us over to your wonderful house, Mr. Waterflower. I'm Ash's father."

I recoiled inwardly at the believably kind tone of my father's voice. If we were anywhere else, he'd be slapping me for giving Misty enough to tell her parents about.

Dan nodded. "Of course. How could we not? We thought it would be appropriate for our daughter and your son to get acquainted. She's in need of some, ahem- boy friends, if you know what I mean." The wink he gave my father made me want to puke.

"Dad!" Misty piped up. "Stop it! We talked about this!"

He rubbed her head. "Now, now, Misty, don't be so sensitive. I was only playing around."

Her cheeks were turning a faint hue of pink. "Yeah, well you don't have to be so embarrassing!"

At that moment, Mrs. Waterflower called that dinner was ready. As our fathers moved toward the kitchen, I excused myself to "wash up". As I walked toward the bathroom, I grabbed Misty's arm and dragged her along with me.

"Hey!" she protested as I shut the door. "What gives?"

I stuck a finger in her face. "You'd better not say a word about anything that's happened recently between you and me. Don't bring up the park. Don't bring up Chemistry, lunch, or what went on outside after school. And most certainly, _don't_ call me your friend. Got it?"

She stared at me, bewildered. "Why not?"

"Because I said so." I turned toward the sink.

She took a step closer to me. "I'm not going to do what you told me to unless you give me a reason why."

"I'll give you a real good one." I held my fist up in the mirror.

"You can't hurt a girl."

"Oh really? Says who?"

"Says society."

I laughed. "That's the stupidest answer you could have possibly given. I don't give a crap about what society says."

"You seem to care about what I have to say."

I looked at her. "Because _you're_ here. _They_ are not."

In the mirror, I could see her shaking her head. "You make no sense, Ash Ketchum."

"Good. I don't want nor need to be understood."

Behind me, she let out a huge sigh. "I won't say anything. Now, can I go? I don't need my father getting any... ideas."

 _That makes two of us._ "Whatever. But remember-" I finished my sentence with a show of my fist. She stuck her tongue out at me and walked out.

Drying my hands on the towel, I gave her a thirty second head start before I emerged from the bathroom. Finding my way to the kitchen by means of smell, I found everyone seated around a circular dinner table made of finely-polished wood. Several platters of food were scattered here and there, each looking equally delicious. Trying not to salivate, I took my seat in between my father and, of course, Misty.

"So," Mr. Waterflower said as I took a helping of turkey, "Misty told me that you and her have Chemistry together. Hopefully you'll be a better lab partner for her than they had picked out for her at her old school." The shudder that followed his words told me more about this person he spoke of than any word could.

I nodded, my fork hovering over my plate. "I'm going to try, sir." Setting my jaw, I leaned the plate of turkey toward him. "Would you like some more turkey, sir? Or ma'am?" I gestured briefly toward Mrs. Waterflower. Despite the fact that both of their plates were already piled high with the white meat, I knew my father would kill me for not asking and "being selfish".

Both adults shook their heads. "I think we're quite alright, young man," Mrs. Waterflower said, smiling. Mr. Waterflower nodded in agreement.

As much as it pained me to do so, I gestured toward Misty. "How about you?" She gave me a look of surprise, but said no. I gave her a small warning glare.

I ended up having to repeat the whole asking process for the remaining dishes. After the third time, Mr. Waterflower started laughing and told me that I didn't need to act so polite- unless, of course, I was trying to impress his daughter, which earned him a death stare from the little redheaded menace.

As we ate, the family and my father discussed various things, from jobs to the weather to concerns regarding the recent influx of crime in the area. According to Mr. Waterflower, if it weren't for his job they never would have considered moving to our town. They had left all of their family back home in Idaho, meaning that they were now quite far. Mr. Waterflower was a salesman for some big company, while Mrs. Waterflower had recently secured a job as a receptionist for the hospital. I stayed quiet during most of it, only making the occasional comment where and when it was needed.

By the time I was helping myself to some seconds, the conversation started turning in the direction of Misty and I, much to my chagrin. My fingers tightened around my fork as I stabbed at a chunk of turkey, hoping the questions wouldn't get too personal.

"Ash," Mr. Waterflower began. "Your father mentioned that you and him have been living here ever since you were born. That must mean that you have some pretty old friends around here, hm?"

Thankfully, that was a question I was prepared for. "My friends change around a lot. As soon as I started middle school, I started getting into a position where I was not in the same classes as my friends all of the time. So, that started leading to this transition where I got new friends and lost some old ones. That same thing has been happening ever since sixth grade."

Mr. Waterflower looked interested. "Fascinating. You see, Misty went to a small school back in Idaho. The total population of the school was maybe... four, five hundred students? She was in honors math, so of course she got in with some of the smarter kids, but I don't ever recall her complaining much of being separated from her friends too frequently."

"Well, Dan, you know how boys are," Mrs. Waterflower said. I tensed a bit as her knife scraped against her plate, making that awful nails-on-chalkboard sound. "They really don't have good friends as often as girls do. It takes a while for female relationships to dissolve, especially when tight bonds are formed."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that why we're still married, then?" He snaked an arm around her waist and leaned closer to her.

She giggled. "Dan, not at the table!"

He kissed her cheek. "Later, then."

I glanced at Misty. Her face was redder than my fruit punch. I watched, amused, as she hid her face in her hands and let out an exasperated groan.

Dan Waterflower shot her a humorous look. "What's the matter, Misty? Afraid of a little flirtation?"

"I'm not afraid of it! You're just embarrassing me in front of our neighbors!"

Reaching over, he ruffled her fiery-orange hair with his hand. "Tsk, tsk, Misty, I'm only teasing. Calm down."

She folded her arms. "I go to school with this kid, Dad. I don't want any rumors getting around."

"Why not? I'd love to be the center of attention again." His eyes took on a mystifying quality. "When I was your age, everyone talked about me. Captain of the baseball and swim teams. Part of Student Council. Near perfect grades. Clean permanent record." He smiled. "Then I met your mom."

She huffed. "Well, for your information, I too was popular before I met you."

"Oh really? How so?"

"I was captain of the cheerleading squad. _All_ of the guys wanted to date me."

"What happened?"

I couldn't help it- a small chuckle slipped out from between my lips. My spine tingled as I shot my dad a quick look. Thankfully, he hadn't seemed to have noticed. He too was laughing, a warm glow in his eyes. I felt a burn of jealousy between my ribs.

 _Why can't I ever get him to laugh like that? Not even my best accomplishments can crack a smile out of him. I get a 98% on a test, he asks why it wasn't a one hundred. My teacher compliments my work, he asks me why it doesn't reflect on my grades. I get a perfect attendance award and a personal thank-you from the principal, and all he says is that if it weren't for him, that award wouldn't be mine. I sing in a concert, and he doesn't even show up._

I let my senses focus back on the Waterflowers. They were still caught up in their family squabble. Mrs. Waterflower was trying to prove to her husband that she had once been a successful high school-er, while Mr. Waterflower kept on making jabs that made her face turn redder than Misty's. Speaking of her, the junior Waterflower was trying hard not to look at her parents. She looked thoroughly annoyed; that alone was enough to make me feel warm inside.

My father cleared his throat, interrupting the little exchange. "If you will excuse me, I'd like to take some time to specially thank you all for your hospitality. I haven't had a meal like this in years." He let out a hearty laugh. "With Ash's mother gone, most of the time it's either fast food or microwavables. Very rarely do we treat ourselves to something of this quality."

 _Yeah, when you actually feed me. Most of the time it's in my room with bread and an apple I go, and that's it._

I could tell by the delivery of my father's final word that he intended for me to speak after him. Before any of the Waterflowers could say anything, I piped up. "My dad's right, Mr and Mrs. Waterflower. You're being exceptionally good hosts tonight, and I can't express my gratitude for this meal and your hospitality." I glanced at Misty. "The same to you, Misty." I didn't miss the surprise in her eyes.

 _Trust me. I wouldn't be saying a single word to you if I didn't have to._

Both of the parents looked thoroughly pleased. Dan nodded, saying, "You're both very welcome. It is an honor to have two such fine gentlemen in our house."

 _Fine gentlemen my ass._

Mrs. Waterflower suddenly stood up. "If everyone is done, I'll take the dishes into the kitchen and get the dessert."

My father looked surprised. "Dessert? My, when I'm done you'll have to roll me out of here!"

Everyone laughed. I forced a titter, standing up as well. "Let me help you with the dishes, ma'am," I offered.

She smiled. "Of course. Right this way, Mr. Ketchum. Perhaps you can handle the bigger ones for me?"

"Of course."

I grabbed as many dishes as I could carry and followed Misty's mom into the kitchen. As she opened the dishwasher, I set the stack down on the counter.

"So," she began. "Do you have any siblings, Ash?"

The question surprised me a bit. "No," I replied. "My mom... passed when I was only five. My parents never had the opportunity to have more children, I guess. Or maybe they just didn't want any more; I'm not sure."

She nodded. "Misty has three older siblings. Triplets, they are. One of them is in college, and the other two are off somewhere, travelling the world. It's hard with them being five years older than their sister. She really doesn't feel close to them, which I understand. They're barely around, and when they are, they spend more time frolicking around the town than with their sister."

For the first time, I felt a small stab of sympathy for Misty. I knew more than anyone else what it was like to be pushed aside. "That's terrible. I know that if I had a younger sibling, I'd want to be around to watch them grow up."

She nodded, body tense. "Dan and I have tried talking to them. Tried to get them to see reason, you know? They just won't listen. They say that they don't have time to spend with their sister, that they'd rather be chasing men and shopping." She shook her head. "The only one who is moderately close to Misty is Daisy. She tries to spend time with her when she's home from college, but she often gets swept away by Lily and Violet for the entire time."

I passed her another dish. "If you don't mind me asking, what is Daisy studying?"

"She's aiming for a degree in Cosmetology. She wants to open her own hair styling shop some day."

I nodded. "That's a worthwhile career."

She looked straight at me then, pausing in her loading of the dishwasher. "What is it that you want to do, Ash?"

I was caught a bit off-guard by the question. In all honesty, I hadn't thought much about it. I was more concerned about living through each day of my father's hell than going off to college. I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to go. But, not wanting to get into too much of my story, I lied. "I've been thinking about becoming a doctor, miss."

Her eyes lit up. "A doctor!? What a marvelous choice! It's a lot of schooling, but it's worth it."

I nodded, feeling bad over the lie and trying to imprint it upon my mind to stick with it for the sake of avoiding a beating. "Yes, ma'am, it is." I forced a smile.

She lifted up the door of the dishwasher and waited to hear it click shut. She then pressed some buttons, and the thing roared to life. The smell of soap filled the air almost instantly. She wrinkled her nose.

"I've always hated that smell. It's much too strong for my liking."

I chuckled. "Yeah, it's too bad they can't liven it up a bit, yeah?"

She gave me a little push. "Go on back to the dining room, Ash. I'll be along with the pies in just a few."

I blinked. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Positive."

I shrugged. "Okay. Call if you need anything."

I turned and walked back to the table. Misty was talking, telling some story that sounded like it was from her childhood. Silently, I pulled out my chair and took a seat. I couldn't help but notice the odd look my father gave me when I sat down. I held back a shiver.

I held my tongue as Misty told her story, her father only ever occasionally interrupting to comment or correct. Apparently, at some point Misty and this boy had been playing together in the park when a rabid squirrel had appeared and come eat them. They both freaked out and started running away. The squirrel gave chase, only to be hit by a car when it ran into the street. Both kids went home crying, only for Dan to make some sort of joke that got everyone laughing except for me. I suddenly felt very isolated.

Fortunately, at that moment Mrs. Waterflower brought in the pies. Two of them- blackberry and apple. My father gave a loud shout of joy, picking up his fork with a rush of eagerness. I too picked mine up, trying to look as pleased as possible in the hopes of pleasing my father.

I cut myself a slice of apple pie and dug in. The pie itself was delicious, with just the right amount of spice and apple. I let the food slide around my mouth, savoring the taste that I knew I wouldn't experience again- at least not for a while.

The slice seemed to end all too soon, and I took another. As I helped myself to some seconds, Mr. Waterflower shot me with another question.

"So Ash, do you play any sports?"

I looked up from my plate and shook my head. "No, sir. I used to play modified basketball, but I never carried on with it. I guess sports just aren't for me."

He shook his head. "Shame. I love sports. Played a lot in high school and college. I still watch a lot of it to this day, especially baseball." He pumped his fist. "Go Yankees!"

Misty rolled her eyes.

I smiled. "The Yankees are actually my favorite team, sir."

"Really? Sweet!" He started asking me a flurry of questions, which I did my best to answer. My favorite player on the team at the time was Bryan Mitchell, but I honestly preferred Jeter over them all. I hated the Red Sox. If I could play baseball, I'd want to be the pitcher. If I had to pick one team to join that wasn't the Yankees, I'd join the Boston Orioles. If I could eliminate one team from the MLB besides the Sox, I'd eliminate the Dodgers. The conversation went from baseball to basketball to football. Everyone tried to make their own inputs, but it was rather hard with Dan focusing his entire realm of focus on me. By the time my dad announced the end of our stay, I was beginning to feel rather awkward.

My dad shouldered his coat and extended his hand. "Mr. Waterflower, Mrs. Waterflower. It's been a pleasure. I hope to have the three of you over to our own home sometime soon, to repay the debt you have created."

Dan Waterflower laughed. "No need to feel the need to repay us, Mr. Ketchum. We've always liked having neighbors over, without the need to repay us. Consider it a "hello" gift from the Waterflowers."

My dad smiled. "I'm still repaying you," he assured them. "Now, come along, son. We'd best be getting home."

I nodded. "Right. Good night, sir and ma'am's."

A few final goodbyes were shared, and my father and I were on our way. Much as I expected, no exchanges were made between the two of us as we walked next door to our own home. I could tell that my father was keeping his peaceful demeanor on, simply in case the family was still watching.

The tension in the air was as thick as a cake as we stepped up to our own front door. My father fumbled around with his keys for a few minutes before finding the right one. I sucked in a tiny breath as we entered, expecting shit to go down beyond the doormat.

I was right.

As soon as the door clicked shut, my father's fist connected with my jaw. I stumbled back, instinctively grabbing at it. I forced back the water that spontaneously built itself up in my eyes. I spluttered as my father grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled me up so that he and I were eye-to-eye.

"I thought I told you to _never_ associate yourself with _anyone_ from that school!" he screamed. "You shouldn't have even given that girl a look, let alone enough to convince her parents to invite us over!"

"I didn't mean to!" I cried. "She came on to me! I didn't want to talk to her! She just kept approaching me, and-"

He smacked me again, this time hard enough to send me to the floor. My fingers curled around the interior doormat as I waited for my ears to be imploded upon with more of his fucking yelling.

"No excuses! I don't care what the fuck happened! What matters is that _something happened_. I don't _ever_ want to hear of _anything_ like this happening again, am I understood? You are to _never_ associate yourself with that girl, lest I bring upon you a punishment so severe you'll wish you were never born!"

 _Don't worry, Dad. I already wish that._

I felt my dad grab my shirt, and next thing I knew I was on my feet again. He stared me down, his eyes blazing with a psychotic anger. I recoiled, fearing once again for my own life.

Much to my surprise, he didn't do anything more. He simply threw me to the side and snarled, "Go to your room and stay there. I don't want to see or hear your ass for the rest of the night, understood?"

I nodded feebly. "Understood, sir."

I dragged my feet up the stairs, my back melting under my father's hot stare. I managed to hold my tears in until after I was in my room. I let the door shut behind me before falling against the wall, sobbing. Remembering my father's warning, I stuffed a shirt into my mouth to keep the sounds from reaching his ever-vigilant ears.

I don't know how long I sat there for, but eventually I mustered the courage to stand. My legs were shaking, my vision blurry, but I managed to stumble over to my bed. I collapsed, burying my face in my pillow.

My life was shit. At that point, I was 100% sure of it. People could complain all they wanted about how their lives sucked because they couldn't get the newest iPhone or they had too much homework. They didn't understand what it was really like to have a life so terrible it made living on the streets appealing. Every day I was subject to this torment. My father's nitpicking and over-the-top rules. His punching and yelling. And now, his taking away of the only person who seemed to minimally care about me.

As my pillowcase grew wet with my own tears, I thought of her. Of how she'd helped me, even though I told her I didn't want nor need it. How she kept on trying, over and over again, to get me to just crack a smile. To just be human for once. And I pushed her away. Shoved her back like she was just another piece of shit that didn't matter.

 _At least I know your name now, Misty._

* * *

 **Deep stuff right there. Thank you so much for sticking behind me during my (almost) three month absence. You guys are AWESOME. Love you all, my loyal and dedicated fans. Next is an update to TKJ, and then (maybe) a cute one-shot. Thank you again, and I'll see you all next time!**

 **\- Anonymous1O1**


	5. IV

**Hi everyone! I'm back again! I know, I know, you all missed me. I missed ya'll too, so don't worry. I'm liking how this story is going so far, so I'm excited to see how this chapter turns out. I hope you're all as excited as me! Responses to reviews:**

 **Bluepaw265 ~ Thank you so, so much! Your review was really thoughtful and kind, and it made me smile!**

 **Red the Pokemon Master ~ My first thought reading that was WTF. Then, I laughed for some reason. Then I felt really disturbed. So congratulations, you gave me a mood swing.**

 **JordanMax ~ I feel like, just reading your review, you were really pissed off after reading the ending with Ash and his father lol. Yeah, Ash's father is an asshole. Ash is starting to understand Misty a bit more, which in turn may just lead to some special things ;)**

 **Draco Lightning ~ Hopefully Ash can stand up and fight against his d*ckhead of a father. I'm with you on that one.**

 **SpencerDorman ~ Thank you very much!**

 **SuperSonicBros123 ~ Ah, but that would ruin the story ;)**

 **Alina 122 ~ Thank you!**

 **Deuce141 ~ Thanks!**

 **This story currently has 26 reviews, 29 favorites, and 31 followers.**

 **The featured story for this chapter is The Ripple Effect by The Real Iggy. "** **For decades Team Rocket has worked tirelessly for the goal of Kanto and Johto. Ash wants to be a Pokemon Master. Misty wants Ash-and respect. Jessie and James want out. Mewtwo just wants to be left alone. The three of Ash, Brock and Misty will each be compelled to protect their home and unite the trainers and Pokemon of Kanto." So this is a brand-new story. Brand new, as in just published yesterday. I've liked it so far, though, plus it's a PokeShipping story. I highly suggest you check it out if you're looking for a new story to read along with.**

* * *

 _~ "I've learnt that there's a soul mate somewhere in this world. Till you find that person, the search goes on." ~_

 _\- Preity Zinta_

* * *

Weekends suck.

Most people cherish the weekend. They treat it like it's God's gift to Man. But to me, weekends are hell. It should be obvious why that is; not having to go to school means I have to stay around the house while my father either:

A) Gets drunk.

or

B) Beats me senseless.

So far, all had been decent. The only confrontation we'd had so far was when I'd tripped and spilled some milk on the floor. He shoved me on the ground and told me to clean it up, as expected. I, of course, had expected more, but oddly enough he left it at that. So I'd cleaned up the milk before retreating upstairs, intent on listening to some Nickelback and working on my homework.

I'd left the window partially open, and was enjoying the calm, cool breeze that was meandering in through the open space. I was about halfway through my English paper when my music suddenly cut out. I checked my phone quickly; sometimes the app malfunctioned and crashed. To my chagrin, I saw that the Wi-Fi had cut out. Great.

I could hear my dad downstairs, hollering and throwing things around. He must have been using the Internet himself. I instinctively grabbed harder on my bed sheets, praying that he'd keep his anger out of my zone. I turned my attention back to the paper, trying to block out my father's angry screaming. From the way he was slurring his swears and stumbling around, I had a feeling he'd already been drinking.

After ten minutes of fruitlessly scribbling down meaningless words and streaking eraser shavings across my paper, I gave up. I hated how my English teacher, Mr. Potts, felt the need to slam us with an essay or a creative writing piece every weekend. He hadn't given us a break since the start of the year; every Friday he announced some sort of writing assignment that got the class groaning and him yelling.

It was fun.

This weekend, our assignment was to take something that annoyed us and turn it into something positive. I'd been writing a half-ass response about snow; the only annoying thing in my life that I could write about without Social Services knocking down the door. Of course, getting taken away from my father would be great, but it wouldn't happen. He had an amazing talent for hiding any and every sign of his abuse whenever someone came over. He'd put on this nice persona, convince them all that it was just a misunderstanding, and I'd be back to square one.

I say this from experience, by the way. One time, when I was seven, I tried calling the police after my father had locked me in our basement for two whole days and refused to feed me. Of course, the police had in fact shown up and investigated the house. Despite my pleas, they came to the conclusion that I was simply "overreacting about a small punishment" for what my father called "watching a T.V. program he wasn't supposed to". After they left, I got it twice as bad.

So, of course, I never tried that again.

Throwing the English aside, I pulled my Chemistry book on to my lap. Even though we had no homework, we had a big unit test scheduled for Tuesday. I figured that, since I was stuck in my room and all, I might as well study. I was by no means a Chemistry expert, and I really had to try hard to maintain a high enough average to avoid a beating. Any grade, regardless of its importance, below an 85 got me punished. Ever since I'd gotten a severe beating when I was eleven for getting a twenty on a quiz, I'd taken any schoolwork I knew was going to be graded as seriously as I could.

I was just getting through re-reading a section when I heard a voice call up from outside my window.

"Hey! Ash!"

I looked up, immediately recognizing the voice. That recognition brought with it a rush of intense annoyance. Of all the times, of _course_ it had to be now. Throwing my book aside, I crawled across my bed to the window.

"What?" I snarled, resting my chin on the windowsill.

Misty looked up at me from just outside the backyard gate, her innocent viridian oculi blinking up at me. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the blazing afternoon sun. She looked confused at first, then excited.

"Hey!" she called happily. "How are you?"

I stared at her incredulously. "Seriously?"

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"You came all the way over here just to ask me how I am!? You could've called!"

"You wouldn't have picked up."

"Then what made you think I'd show up for you here!?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"Only because you'd just keep yelling."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

I sighed, throwing my hands in the air. "I don't know!" I snapped. "I guess I'm fine! Why do you care?"

"Are you busy?"

"Does it matter?"

"What do you think?"

"Naw," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've got an English paper to write, a Chem test to study for, forty problems in math, and ten vocabulary words in History. I'm not busy at all."

She put her hands on her hips. "No need to get sassy."

I tapped my fingers impatiently on my windowsill. "If you're just here to chat, that's nice, but I've got a lot of work to do. Can't you just stop by later or whatever?"

"You'll just come up with some other excuse."

 _How does she have me so figured out already!?_ "Whatever! Just tell me why you're here already, would you please? I have half a mind to shut this window just so I can work in peace!"

She shook her head, clearly exasperated. "You're such an ass sometimes, Ash Ketchum. My mother sent me over here to ask you if you wanted to come over for some lemonade and cookies."

I was surprised by this, and I was sure said surprise was showing on my face. No one in the neighborhood had ever invited me over for such things. If ever I did get invited over to someone else's house, it was to do some sort of job for a dollar or two. I gawked at her, not sure what to say.

She smirked. "Has Mr. Smartass lost his tongue?"

"I'm not a smartass!" I snapped. "Look, I'll be right over, okay? Just... get lost."

That made her laugh, for whatever reason. "Alright, then." Spinning on her heel in that way perky girls did, she pranced on back to her own property.

I changed out of my sweatpants into a nicer pair of jeans and daringly tiptoed out of my room. I swallowed hard as I made my way down the stairs and saw my father sprawled on our living room couch. I felt a cold sweat break on the back of my neck, and chills ran up and down my spine.

My dad, despite his obvious drunkenness, noticed me instantly. "Where ya goin', son?" he slurred.

"Mrs. Waterflower invited me over to do some chores for her," I lied. My teeth gnashed against my inner cheek as I prayed that he would accept the lie.

He contemplated that for several moments. At last, he asked, "Yer homework done?"

I shook my head. "No, sir, but I'll get it done."

"You better. Now get outta here. Pop wants to rest." He let out a groan and threw his head back against the armrest. For the first time, I noticed the half-empty bottle in his hand.

I nodded. "Yes, sir." As quickly as I could, I darted out the door.

As I crossed the short distance from my house to the Waterflower residence, I wondered why exactly I was going over there in the first place. After all, I couldn't stand Misty. Her parents were super nice and fun, but their daughter was anything but. I guess the chance to get away from my father and that stupid room of mine was what drove me to say yes.

I stepped up on to their porch and knocked. Almost instantly, Misty herself answered the door. A big grin plastered itself on her face as she took me in. I gave her a weird look, wondering just why the hell she was so happy.

"I didn't think you'd come."

"What?" I huffed. "You think I'm a liar or something?"

She shook her head. "No, no. I just thought you'd said yes to get me to leave, and you weren't actually going to show up."

"Yeah, well, I'm here. Make way."

She stepped aside, and I entered the house.

The inside was extremely cool, a nice relief from the hotness of my own home. I saw Misty's mother sitting at the dining table, while her father was in the living room reading Popular Mechanics.

Mrs. Waterflower noticed me instantly. She sprung up from her chair, a great big smile on her face that mirrored that of her daughter's. I tensed as she rushed toward me, not sure what to expect.

I most certainly wasn't expecting a hug.

It was a quick one; one that didn't give me the chance to react. I was pretty surprised; never before had I been greeted in that way. I tried to push back said shock, however, for the sake of not making things awkward. I gave her as strong of a "hello" as I could muster, maintaining eye contact as was the confident thing to do.

"Come on in, Ash!" Mrs. Waterflower invited. She gestured toward the table, which proudly displayed a tray of assorted cookies and a pitcher of lemonade. I felt my mouth beginning to water, recalling just how good the matron of the household's cooking was. I was about to do as she told when I felt a strong hand clap me on the back. I reflexively flinched, only to remember that this wasn't home.

Dan Waterflower greeted me enthusiastically. "There's my man! Glad you could make it, son."

I smiled sheepishly. "It was a pleasure to be invited, sir."

He placed a hand against my back and steered me into the kitchen. "I've been waiting for you to come over again. We had such a lively conversation last time; everything was so much fun!"

"Yes, sir, it was," I admitted, being honest for once.

I took a seat in between Misty and Dan. I was told that I could help myself to the cookies and lemonade, so I did. I poured a full glass of the tart drink and grabbed several cookies of varying types. Chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, ginger snaps, frosted... they were all there. I wondered what had inspired Mrs. Waterflower to do such a thing. I didn't really care, however, as a cookie was a cookie.

As we ate, we talked. As my father wasn't around, I felt free enough to tell them more about myself. I talked about everything from my earliest memories to my "future career choice" to, of course, sports. For the first time in years, I actually felt... happy. Truly, one hundred percent happy.

It was an amazing feeling.

After we finished with the snacks, we moved into the living room. Despite Misty's protests, the Waterflower couple pulled out an old scrapbook. Contained within its pages were pictures of all four Waterflower children. I got my first glimpse at the triplets, who were in fact just as pretty as I'd imagined them.

Mrs. Waterflower pointed at a picture of a baby in a blue onesie laying in a crib. She chuckled a bit, then explained, "That's Misty when she was two weeks old. Cute, wasn't she?"

I shot an amused look Misty's way. Her cheeks were tinted a slight hue of pink as she tried to hide behind her fingers. Deciding to have a bit of fun, I said, "Yes, she was. Got any more pictures of her as a baby? I'd _love_ to see them."

She shot me a death glare. I smiled innocently.

"Of course!" Mrs. Waterflower cried, jumping out of her seat. "In fact, I have an entire album of her first six months!"

"Great!" I couldn't help but laugh at the mixture of anger and embarrassment that had worked its way into Misty's features.

 _Karma's brutal!_

As Misty's mother sifted through her scrapbook collection, I caught a glimpse of Dan poking his daughter in the side, smirking. When she looked at him, I just barely heard him whisper, "He's already askin' for more pictures! I think he's interested."

I think we both wanted to throw up at that point.

After a few minutes of searching, Mrs. Waterflower produced a small scrapbook marked with the words "Baby's First Months". Plopping herself down next to me on the couch, she opened it up.

For the next half hour, we looked through pictures of Misty from her birth all the way up to her half birthday celebration. Some of the pictures were downright hilarious, such as the one of her mother trying to take a nice picture with the wailing Misty. Others were cute, like one of her sitting in a car seat with a big grin plastered on her tiny little face. I laughed and smiled as I heard stories of her early life antics, including one time when she'd stuck her finger up the faucet during a bath and showered her mother with a spray of water.

The topic at hand then shifted to my early life. I shared the stories I could recall hearing about from others and my father at social events. I purposefully left my mother out of my stories, and no one bothered to ask about her. I figured they knew enough not to. I told them of my favorite story, in which I was running down the sidewalk with someone, and they spun me around again and again in the rain. I explained how getting spun around was, for some reason, my favorite thing when I was little. When I was asked why, I explained that my reasoning for it was that I felt wild and free while I was in the air. I had no other logical reason for it, other than the possibility of me just being plain weird.

Eventually, I excused myself to go use the bathroom. The downstairs one was being painted and thus was off-limits, so I found myself using the upstairs one instead. Despite the short time they'd been in the house, the Waterflowers had already done a nice job fixing some things up. They'd repainted the upstairs bathroom a calming shade of purple, and Mr. Waterflower had mentioned their plans to have the floor replaced and the plumbing upgraded. They truly cared about their home; something one doesn't see much of these days. I found myself appreciating that.

As I finished using the bathroom and started washing my hands, someone burst into the bathroom. I was immediately on guard, alarmed by the sudden intrusion.

Much to my confusion and anger, it was Misty. I threw my hands up in the air, sending little droplets of water flying everywhere. "What the hell?" I demanded. "Ever heard of knocking?'

She stared at me. "I waited until I heard the toilet flush."

"What if- You know what? Never mind. Why are you in here?"

She suddenly got closer, backing me up against the still-running sink. "What was that downstairs? With the albums and everything?"

I found myself grinning like a madman. "Just havin' some fun."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't fun! It embarrassed me to no end! Those baby pictures are for me, and only me!" Her face was completely red; whether from anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure.

"You've been a pain in my ass ever since we met, so I decided to be a pain in yours."

"You're ridiculous."

"Thank you."

She groaned. "My parents love you, which I don't understand. You're more annoying than my Chemistry homework!"

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Yes!"

"Well, it sucked."

She pushed me then. I stumbled a little, but didn't fall. It wasn't much of a push to being with; just a little touch. I laughed. "That all you got? I thought you were supposed to be tough."

"I don't want to make you cry."

"Oh, okay," I chuckled. "Look, I won't ask to see any more pictures. Is that enough?"

She huffed. "I guess so."

I gave her a cheeky grin. "Good. But regardless of what you say, you were a cute baby."

I was lucky she didn't kill me for that one.

The two of us managed to get ourselves back to normal by the time we got back downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Waterflower were still in the living room, albeit this time with cups of tea. Dan wiggled his eyebrows at us as we approached.

"Man, you two took a while. What were you doin' up there?" He looked at us both suggestively. I blinked in confusion, while Misty just rolled her eyes.

"Daniel!" Misty's mother scolded. "Don't say those things! They're just friends."

 _Not even that._

Dan nodded, not looking convinced. "Yeah, right. Because friends of the opposite gender _always_ go in the bathroom together."

"We were just talking!" Misty insisted. "Honest!"

He laughed. "Okay, darling. Whatever you say."

At that moment, I found myself glancing at the clock. It read 5:09. I was a bit startled by that, not having realized it was getting so late. I quickly excused myself, making my way toward the door. I almost made it out when Mrs. Waterflower stopped me.

"Will you stay for dinner?"

I swallowed. As much as I wanted to stay, I knew that I couldn't. I was already pushing the boundaries as it was. If I got home any later, I'd be in for some serious punishment. My dad made it a serious point that I was to be home by sundown every day. No exceptions. I wasn't about to dare breaking that rule, regardless of whether or not he was drunk and thus oblivious to everything but his liquor.

"I can't ma'am," I said, genuinely sorry. "I have to get home. My dad's expecting me."

She nodded, looking disappointed. "That's too bad. It's been a nice visit, Ash. Come by again!"

I found my gaze sliding over to Misty. Her face was expressionless; I had no way of figuring out whether or not she actually enjoyed my visit. "Thank you, all of you. I had a great time. I'll stop by again... eventually."

And with that, I was gone.

I padded back over to my own house, feeling worry gnaw at my stomach. What would my dad be like? If he had quit the liquor after that one bottle, there was a chance he was sobering up. If not, he might have passed out drunk. I really hoped it was the latter, since if he was sober it meant he'd likely be primed for a beating. I felt that same cold sweat break out again as I opened the door.

The inside of the house was dark, save for a small table lamp that was on. Fortunately, my father was passed out on the couch. His mouth hung open, and his liquor bottle had slid out of his grip and spilled its remaining contents on the floor. I groaned inwardly, knowing which of the two of us would end up cleaning that up.

As quietly as I could, I made my way upstairs. As soon as I made it into my room and got the door shut, I breathed a sigh of relief. No fights. No confrontations. Just peace.

It was nice.

The first thing I caught sight of was my English notebook, sitting crooked on my floor. I felt a sudden, strong urge to write as an idea came to me. I found myself grabbing a pen and said notebook and plopping myself down on my mattress.

I ripped out the original piece and started anew on the blank page beneath it. I felt a small smile curl the corners of my lips as I started scribbling down words in my messy, half-cursive style of writing. I watched, almost as if in a trance, as the words flowed across the page in perfect black ink.

 _Ash Ketchum, English, Mr. Potts._

 _The thing that annoys me the most would have to be this girl that lives next door to me. Every time I see her, I get real angry. I don't know why; somehow I always manage to come up with five thousand excuses why. Her voice, her appearance, her habits... They all annoy me. And yet today, I went over to her house willingly. Sat around and chatted with her and her parents for hours. I don't know how it happened, but I ended up feeling really good afterwards._

 _This assignment told me to take something annoying and make it positive. So... here goes. I guess she's nice. A little. Not much, but a little. After all, she has tried to help me a few times, for whatever reason. I, of course, never wanted nor needed her help, but she insisted upon it anyways. I like that about her, but I also hate it. I'm quite confused..._

And on and on it went, until the entirety of a page was covered in little black lines. When I was finally done, I held it up in the light like it was some prized trophy. I smiled at it, pleased for the first time in ages with something I'd done for that class. I carefully put my notebook away, eager to find out just how Mr. Potts would react to what he might call a "budding love story". Of course, it wasn't, but all English teachers were soppy like that.

I was just about to return to my Chemistry when a loud yet groggy shout came from downstairs. I nearly jumped ten feet; prior to that shout, it had been completely silent throughout the entire house.

"Ash! Get down here and clean this up, _now!_ "

Like I said, weekends suck.

* * *

 **By the way, I want to wish Pokemon a very happy 20th birthday. I'm very excited about the recent announcement of Sun & Moon, if any of you reading this are interested in the games. Can't wait to see what Gen VII brings. Of course, my #1 hope is for Misty to come back for some 20th Anniversary special, but that'll never happen. At least we've got fanfiction, guys.**

 **Until next time,**

 **\- Anonymous1O1**


	6. V

**Hi everyone! I'm back again with another chapter, and one I hope you'll enjoy. I originally never thought that this story would gather any attention outside of my typical readers; I'm very grateful that it's gotten noticed moreso than I originally thought it would. I guess it just goes to show that people want the unexpected.**

 **Shoutouts:**

 **Alina 122 - Aww, you're so sweet! This comment made my heart swell; it makes me so happy to know that people love my writing. I'll check your story out, too :). If you want a beta, I'd also be happy to do it; shoot me a PM.**

 **gio08 - Yeah, it's sure gonna be a kick to the face when she discovers the real reason for his solitude. Thank you!**

 **JordanMax - Misty really is honestly what Ash needs; he needs someone who he can push away and yet she'll still keep on coming back. And yeah, it's good that her parents like him, since that would have made it rather cliche if they didn't lol**

 **ShinyJuJu - Thank you!**

 **The featured story for this chapter is Pokemon Platinum by SoulfulGinger17. "** **In this novelization of the game, Lucas Diamond is thrown into an adventure the likes of which he has never even dreamed of. With the aid of Leif, his trusty Turtwig, Lucas travels throughout the Sinnoh Region to conquer the Pokemon League, as well as stop the evil Team Galactic's plans for world domination." I decided to try something different this time by recommending a novelization of one of the games. Check it out.**

 **This story currently has 30 reviews, 35 favorites, and 36 followers. Thank you!**

 **Whenever you see a ~ in bold followed by either an M or an A, it signifies a POV change.**

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 _~ "_ _Solitude vivifies; isolation kills." ~_

 _\- Joseph Roux_

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I think it was that Tuesday in May when things started to change.

It started rough that morning when I woke to the sound and sight of my crazed father storming into my bedroom. He picked me up by my shirt collar, swung me out of bed, and threw me against the wall. I had to stay there, pinned and helpless, as he smacked me and screamed in my face to the point of breathlessness. It wasn't until there was blood trickling out of the corner of my mouth that he finally put me down and told me to get my ass off to school.

Then, on the bus some kid decided it would be funny to dump his blue Gatorade over my head. I ended up late to first period because I had to spend twenty minutes in the school bathroom trying to get the sugary shit out of my hair and the redness out of my face. Of course, my teacher had to give me detention for it, which I was sure would just tickle my father silly.

Then came Chemistry.

And her.

The moment I saw her, I angrily began rambling to her about what had happened. The words came out rather unintentionally; I'd been meaning to save them for later when I had a silent teddy bear and a pillow. However, I found myself saying them anyways, confiding in her what I would later end up regretting.

She listened, chin in hand, as I talked over the drone of Mr. Gavin's lecture. I could tell she was paying attention, too, since not once did her eyes glaze over. Her expression shifted occasionally, from interest to concern to anger. Once I was finally finished and as out of breath as a marathon runner, she spoke.

"Why don't you ever tell your dad about these things, Ash?"

My heart skipped a beat as she said that. The mere mention of my father, whose angry image was still clear in my mind, made my hands begin to sweat. I rubbed them across the desk, streaking near invisible lines across them.

"He..." He what? What could I tell her? That he didn't care? That he was too busy drinking and "working" to do anything about it? Did I dare tell her such things?

Before I could make up my mind, the lie slipped out as easy as it always had. "He wants me to handle the problems myself. You know, since I'm going to college soon and everything. He thinks that I need to 'man up' and face my own issues, you know?"

"But this is getting out of control, Ash. You're being targeted by a lot more than just a few of these idiots."

"It's hard to explain," I offered, my nerves fraying as she pressed closer and closer to home. "He's really busy with his job, anyways. I don't want to bother him."

"Then tell a teacher."

I scoffed. "Yes, Misty, because those balding fools totally know how to help in a situation like this."

"Some of them can. Mrs. Dryden is really understanding. She-"

"-hates me," I finished. "I always challenged her opinions in my writing and our debates, and she hated me for it. She was conservative; I am liberal. She wouldn't help me if I had the cure to cancer and was about to fall off a cliff."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

She huffed and looked back toward the front of the classroom. "Honestly, Ash, how do you expect anyone to help you if you keep on pushing them away?"

"I came to you, didn't I?"

She looked at me sharply, then back at Mr. Gavin. It was several moments before she said, "It's not enough."

I slouched in my chair, suddenly feeling very defeated. "Yeah, I know."

She didn't say anything further, and neither did I. I felt angry with myself for even confessing to her what had happened. I was becoming weak, all because I had been coaxed into believing that this girl was someone I could confide in. My father's outbursts and my peers' mercilessness once ceased to have a long-lasting impact on me. Now, however, every jerk of hand or smirk of face made me flinch and writhe.

I was sitting in math class when the teacher got a call over the paging system. A few moments later, she hung up and turned to me. I felt my skin turn cold.

"Ash Ketchum, the guidance office wants to see you."

Her words were met with the typical "ooo"'s from my classmates. I felt my face heat up as everyone turned their inquisitive eyes on me. Sliding out of my seat, I shuffled toward the door, Mr. Kly's eyes in my back the entire time.

The guidance counselor, Mrs. Bryan, was waiting for me when I walked in. Her face was twisted with concern, a fact that immediately made me suspicious of her reason for calling me down.

She invited me into her office, which was decorated with colorful posters and pictures of various students doing various things around the school. The counselor's desk was littered with mile high stacks of paper and little trinkets that I could only assume were either to keep her from going mad or to try and cheer up troubled students.

I sat in one of the leather chairs that was opposite her desk, while she plopped her fat ass down in her office chair. I stifled a laugh at the way it sagged and groaned beneath her weight.

She interlaced her fingers on her desk. "I spoke with one of your classmates today, and they told me that you've been having issues with your peers. Is this true?"

I felt red hot anger boil in my throat. _Misty!_ "Yes, ma'am, I suppose it is."

"What's been happening?"

I felt a hard lump form in my throat. All my life, I'd been instructed to keep everything to myself. My father had insisted that I disassociate myself with any and all people in my school, teachers and faculty included. And yet here I was, about to confide in one of the least trustworthy people in all of my high school.

"Today, one of the kids on the bus dumped blue Gatorade on my head. They all just started laughing then, like it was some kind of hilarious Robin Williams joke."

She nodded. The sympathy in her eyes made me want to puke. "I see. Did you try and tell them how it made you feel?"

I bit back a sarcastic remark. _And Misty thinks that these people are helpful? What kind of fantasy world is she living in?_ "No, ma'am. They were all laughing and shouting so much I was sure no one would hear me."

"They might have, if you spoke loudly enough."

 _No one hears me, whether it's quiet or loud. Except Misty, but I see now where that's gotten me._ "I don't think so, ma'am. The buses are bad. Overcrowded and undisciplined."

"And how do you think that can be changed?"

 _What am I, the Board of Education?_ "I don't know. Add some kind of security official in there, just to break up fights and stop bullying. Although they'd probably just get spit on and threatened."

She actually looked like she was considering the idea, which shocked and disgusted me. How could she, as a professional therapist, not have thought of that before? Wasn't she supposed to be one of the school's advisers?

"Is that all that's been going on?" she asked, her eyes focused once more. "Or have other things been happening?"

"A few small things, but nothing big," I lied. "It's nothing."

She reached across her desk and patted my arm, which made me flinch. I wasn't used to being touched in such a sincere way. "Of _course_ it's something, Ashton. It's always something. The little things add up, you know."

I sighed. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"Talking heals the soul."

"Well, then, after this my soul should be pretty healed." The comment came across more cold than I intended, which made me feel both pleased and guilty.

Mrs. Bryan, however, didn't seem all that bothered. After several moments of silence, she ventured into a new category. "How is your home life?"

I tensed. "Fine," I said all too quickly.

She caught the tension in my voice right away, as a professional like her had been trained to do. I hated the way her eyes lit up as she did, as if she had just won the greatest prize in some raffle. She leaned forward, clearly very interested in me. Or an opportunity to use her degree, I should say.

"You're speaking fast and tense," she commented excitedly. "Why? You're lying to me, aren't you? Don't lie, Ashton. It's not healthy. You can trust me."

I resisted the urge to draw back. "I said it's fine. Humdrum, but fine."

"So then you and your father don't do much together?"

"Occasionally."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," I snapped. "Camping. Fishing. The usual father-son stuff."

"And yet you act as if you're afraid of him."

Her bringing me to that point sent me over the edge. I found myself rising from my chair and stalking around her desk so that I was standing right over her. I pressed down the urge to smack her as hard as my body would allow. "I'm not afraid of him!" I yelled. "I just don't have a close relationship with him, that's all!"

Mrs. Bryan seemed unfazed by my sudden outburst. "Perhaps the e-mail I sent out will help you, then."

My blood turned ice cold. "What?"

She nodded. "I sent out an e-mail after speaking with that student today. I think that your father needs to be informed of these school happenings. In order to maintain a healthy student life, you need to keep your parent involved and up-to-date. I didn't want anything slipping through the cracks and being forgotten, so I decided to take it upon myself to tell him the full story. Don't worry; I'm sure this will help you grow closer!"

I felt sick to my stomach then. I started backing away, nearly tripping over her purse. "My father's v-very busy, ma'am. He doesn't like to be pestered about these trivial things."

"They are not trivial! Ash, why are you implying that your father doesn't care anything for you? I've seen you two together; he beams when he's with you!"

I wanted so badly to tell her that it was all an act. That he acted all modest and proper in public, simply so he could maintain his reputation and further mask his dark heart. I wanted to tell her everything about him; how awful he was at home and about how troubled of a man he was.

But I couldn't. She was not someone I could trust. Not after she e-mailed my father without even telling me. I wasn't about to tell her all of that, only for her to go and confront my father about it. If I told her, and she did that, then I'd be in a black bag by morning for sure.

"Ash?" she questioned, looking concerned. "Are you alright? You look very pale. Perhaps you should sit down."

I waved her offer away. "No... No thank you, ma'am. I need to get back to class." Before she could say anything further, I darted out of her office and into the hall.

The next five minutes of my time consisted of me storming into the men's bathroom and pacing around, throwing my hands up like a madman and rambling to myself. My day had quickly gone from bad to disastrous. My father was going to read that e-mail. He might have already. He was going to be pissed. So pissed. I shuddered as I thought of what he'd do to me, recalling the time several months prior when he had whipped me for getting in-school suspension.

Was he going to lock me in the basement again? Make me sleep outside for the next two weeks? Starve me? Beat me to the point of unconsciousness? Keep me from seeing Misty?"

That last possibility made me almost fall over. I couldn't stand the thought of it. Not that I liked her or anything; I just needed her to scream to and unleash my anger upon. She was the sponge that soaked in my hatred and fury; without her, all I had was a bear and a pillow. I needed her for that. I needed her to be my bear and my pillow. Not my friend. No, he couldn't take her away. He couldn't. He just _couldn't_.

I shoved the tears budding in my eyes back into their sockets. Taking a deep breath, I chose to walk out of that bathroom and back to class, ignoring the stares and questions of my peers. I grasped my pencil tight in my hand and wrote, trying hard not to break down in front of everybody.

For once, I wasn't mad at Misty. I understood that she didn't understand. She thought I was just too shy and afraid to get help, so she did it for me. She was trying to help. It was Mrs. Bryan and her recklessness that I was pissed at. Her sending that one e-mail was enough to write my death warrant. I knew that there was a large possibility that my father could give me the worst he ever had that night. He could even kill me.

The rest of the day was hell. I didn't eat. I talked to no one. When Misty came to me in lunch, I got up and moved away. When she followed me, I walked into the one place she couldn't- the men's bathroom. It was then that I sobbed a bit, fearing for my very life. Once I got control of myself, I left the bathroom and went to my next class. On and on I went, holding in so much fear and despair I thought I might explode.

Then came the end of the day.

Fortunately, God wasn't cruel enough to make anything bad happen to me on the bus. The kids mostly ignored me, although a few poked and prodded at me occasionally, trying to get some sort of reaction out of me. I gave them none, for I was already too numb to feel anything they did. I just stared at the back of the seat in front of me, nearly burning a hole in it with the intensity of my stare.

When I looked out the bus window and saw my father in the yard, _talking to Misty,_ my stomach flipped. It was all I could do not to dump the nonexistent contents of my stomach onto the floor. I grabbed my bag and staggered off the bus, feeling about as good as a drunk man.

My father did a very good job of hiding his anger. He talked and laughed with Misty; it sounded to me as if they were discussing some sort of sports thing. Misty still had her bag slung over her shoulder, telling me that she hadn't yet stopped home.

When my father saw me, he stepped away from Misty to greet me with a big hug. I sucked in a sharp breath, which I was sure both he and Misty heard. I forced myself to reciprocate the hug, allowing a single tear to fall onto his red shirt.

My father pulled back after just a moment. Now that he had his back to Misty, he allowed a dangerous spark to enter his eyes for just a second. "Misty told me about what happened on the bus today, as did your guidance counselor in an e-mail. Are you alright, son?" His voice held a hidden meaning that only I understood.

 _You may be all right now, but wait until I've finished with you, you son of a bitch._

I swallowed back the apple-sized lump in my throat. "Yes, sir, I'm fine. It was a shock at first, but I've gotten over it."

"Good,' he said in his fake happy voice. "I'm glad to hear that. Come inside and set your stuff down, and then we can talk about it. I think it's time we had a serious talk about what's been going on in school, hm?"

I flinched. "Yes, sir."

I looked past him then and saw Misty. I expected her to be happy that my father and I were going to have a "heart-to-heart", and was surprised to see that she actually looked scared.

Scared of what? What had she just witnessed or realized that made her look so shocked?

I didn't have time to ask, for my father cut in with a goodbye at that point. He then whisked himself away toward the door. I reluctantly followed, my hands grabbing tight to the seams of my pants as I did so. Christ was I going to be hurting tonight.

"Bye," Misty said softly. I'd never heard her sound so vulnerable. What the hell?

I gave her one last look over my shoulder as I stepped inside. Her eyes were locked on to me like I was some sort of valuable art piece in a fire. Her whole body was tense, and her jaw worked the way mine did when I got really agitated. She opened her mouth to say something, but I turned away before she could.

Then the door shut and it began.

 **~M**

It wasn't until I saw him with his father that it finally clicked for me.

I felt like the world's biggest, most selfish idiot for not having realized it before. Coming to the conclusion I had was like a slap to the face; it was like God was giving me a serious wake-up call.

And I definitely was awake.

The fear in his eyes when he looked out that window and saw his father and me. The way he took in a sharp breath when his father hugged him, as if it surprised him more than anything else in the world. How terrified he looked when he looked over his shoulder at me, as if to extend a silent cry for help.

Something was going on in there. Something bad.

I had an aching suspicion that I knew what it was, but I needed confirmation. I was always a woman of hard word. If a question came to my mind, I wanted to know the answer. It didn't matter how trivial the answer was; I had to know it. So I inched over to their front window, keeping low so as not to be so easily seen.

As I crept over to the transparent glass, I tried convincing myself that I was overreacting. That he was just shaken from the day's events and was currently having a deep, meaningful talk with his father. I forced the idea into my head that everything was fine, and that I had nothing to be worried about.

All of that went out the window when I saw them.

Ash's father had his back to me in the entryway of their living room. I held back a scream when I saw Ash just beyond, lying on the ground and being beat upon by his father. I felt tears well in my eyes as I saw his father's fist come down, over and over and over.

I couldn't bear to stand there for more than just a few seconds. I ran away like a coward, tripping over the roots of a bush as I did so. I sprinted across the lawn and over to my own house, busting through the door and flying up the stairs. My mother let out a surprised cry as I nearly struck her down with the front door, but I ignored her. I shot into my room like a crazed cheetah and slammed the door behind me.

Throwing myself onto my bed, I buried my face into my pillow and sobbed. I'd heard plenty about child abuse, but I'd never witnessed it before in my whole life. I'd always acted as if it was out of my realm of concern. I told myself time and time again that it wasn't anything for me to be all that informed about, because it would never make its way into my life.

And yet here I was, bawling into my white pillow because I had just witnessed my friend being struck by his own father. An act I had set in motion by telling Mrs. Bryan - and Mr. Ketchum - what had happened on the bus.

I had to help him. I had to do something to get him out of there or at least... I just had to do something. I couldn't just act like I hadn't seen anything. I'd gotten him to trust me, sure, but that only ended up making his life ten times worse. He was at the bottom of the barrel, and I had to get him out. I didn't care if he hated me for it. I didn't care if he pushed me away a hundred times over. I had helped him before and succeeded, and I was going to do it again. I had to. Otherwise, I'd be forced to live with the guilt of knowing I'd sentenced him to hell.

I got up.

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 **So I think we're starting to near the climax/end of this story. It's been a very interesting one to write, and I'm looking forward to bringing it to a conclusion. I would draw it out for longer, except there's not much else I can do. Expect at minimum 2-3 more chapters, possibly 4-5 if I can find enough content to stretch it out that long. There will also be an epilogue, so if you want you can count that into the chapter count too. I'll probably release the epilogue at the same time as the last chapter. If you've liked this story, then please feel free to check out the other one on my profile. If you don't like it or are upset by what I'm doing, please, tell me why! Feedback is the heart that pumps my pen ;)**

 **Until next time,**

 **\- Anonymous1O1**


	7. VI

**Hello! I'm back (again) with more! I know a lot of you are looking forward to this chapter, so I'll just cut to the chase. Responses to reviews:**

 **MewLover27 - Thank you very much!**

 **JordanMax - Ash will never know how lucky he is that Misty just decided to look into the window. Yeah, I can't imagine what it must be like, but at least now Misty can do something about it!**

 **SpencerDorman - Thank you! And trust me, it's perfectly okay to like it because of the dark stuff ;)**

 **Alina 122 - The fact that I make your day just by updating makes my day!**

 **King Reeses - Thank you very much.**

 **Guest - Yes, and that's a very good thing.**

 **cake0108 - Me too haha**

 **gabbygirl199 - Thank you!**

 **This story currently has 38 reviews, 51 favorites, and 58 followers. Thank you very much!**

 **The featured story for this chapter is** **Becoming the Master by CaptainPrice. "It's been over a month since Ash Ketchum completed his journey in the Sinnoh region after losing to Tobias in the Lily of the Valley Conference. This has led to him questioning his strength and skill as a trainer and now he's not sure what he should do next. However, he receives a letter that may just be his answer to reaching his goal." The fact that this exists purely as a means of correcting the B &W anime means it deserves to be read by all of you.**

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 _~ "Condemn none: if you can stretch out a helping hand, do so. If you cannot, fold your hands, bless your brothers, and let them go their own way." ~_

 _\- Swami Vivekananda_

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 **~M**

I sat in a lawn chair, staring up at his window.

I wasn't being lazy or anything. No, every bone in my body ached to help him. My blood was lit by the fires of desire and determination. I was just biding my time.

I had done some careful thinking, and had come to the conclusion that sneaking over to Ash's house now, in broad daylight, was too risky. Someone - anyone - could catch me.

And I couldn't risk being caught.

If I was to go over there, if I was to help him as I so desperately wanted to, then nobody could know. Not even my parents, whom I had trusted with every little secret of mine since I came to understand what secrets even were. No, this was not something for an adult to handle.

This was something for me to handle.

The sun was setting now, tinting the cloudless sky an attractive hue of pink and orange. I found myself staring at it, my eyes watering under its intense glare. How could something so beautiful, so picturesque, exist in the same vicinity as something so dark and so spiteful?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. I saw Ash, the only boy I'd ever actually cared about apart from my dad, lying on the ground. I saw his father, standing above him with a reddened fist raised. His father. The man who had duped an entire community into believing he was a caring, innocent, honest man. The fact that I had been lied to in such a way, after all my family had done for him, burned in my chest.

Just a little. More. Time.

I just needed until dark. Then, my plan could begin. I wasn't someone who was used to being sneaky and deceitful - my parents had raised me not to be -, so I found it rather difficult to concoct a good enough plan to justify what I had seen.

I obviously couldn't just rip him out of his home and whisk him away to a better life. As much as I wanted to free him from his father's iron grip, I couldn't. Even though I was soon to be a senior, I was still a young individual. I didn't have the ability to take off with someone just like that.

So, I'd care for him instead.

I'd go over there and show him that I truly, truly cared. I knew he didn't quite fully believe that I was on his side. He was starting to, but he wasn't fully. He didn't trust me yet. And seeing the home life he had, I understood why.

So, I'd show him. I'd prove to him once and for all that he had someone to lean on when he needed it. I'd show him that he didn't have to tiptoe around me anymore. If he needed me, I'd be there. What kind of a friend would I be if I wouldn't do such things, especially for someone like him?

Eventually, it was time. I looked away from his window for one moment, noticing that the living room light was on. I could see the silhouette of my parents inside, watching T.V.

They were distracted. Perfect.

As I snuck over to our shed, I felt like a total delinquent. I'd always condemned children who acted out against their parents by sneaking out and doing bad things. Especially teenaged girls who snuck out to see boys.

And yet here I was, acting out against my parents and sneaking out to see some boy.

Granted, I wasn't going off to see him for romantic reasons. It wasn't like I was going to go over there and wind up pregnant because of it. Still, it left a knot in my stomach that refused to unwind.

Opening our shed as quietly as I could, I slipped inside. Fortunately, the ladder I'd need was right near the entrance, so that meant no stumbling around and possibly breaking my leg on one of Dad's stupid projects.

It took a lot more effort than I originally thought to drag the ladder out, shut the door, and then drag it over to the gate. I stuck to the fence, hoping it'd help me stay out of my parents' field of vision. I had an excuse ready in case I was caught, but it'd be all the simpler if I could just take care of the whole thing without them getting involved.

I pushed the ladder over the fence and went through the gate. I tried my best not to rip up the grass too much as I drug the ladder toward his window, knowing that I'd just be creating a mess he'd have to clean up.

Two upstairs lights were on- the one in Ash's bedroom, and the other in what I assumed to be his father's bedroom or office. The blinds on both were drawn shut. Probably to keep the neighbors from casually looking in on an abuse scene.

As I leaned the ladder against the house and started crawling up it, a thought occurred to me. What would I do if Ash's father was in the room? If he saw me, then he'd assume that Ash had invited me over, and that'd make an extraordinary amount of trouble. It was almost enough to make me stop and go back, but I pressed on. There was still the chance that he was alone. And, if that were the case, this trip would be worth it.

The ladder brought me up to nose-height with the windowsill. Ash's window was open about an inch, just enough to allow a breeze through. Daringly, I reached up and pushed open the blinds just a bit.

He was sitting at his desk, leaning over a piece of paper. His hair was a disheveled mess, and his left hand was covered with dried blood. I let out a small gasp.

It was now or never.

"Ash?" I called, my voice cracking.

He spun around faster than a cheetah, his eyes wild. My heart nearly stopped when I saw his bruised, swollen face. He jumped out of his chair, backing up quickly and stumbling over a bag on the floor. The shock melted off of his face, replaced by a look of anger.

He darted over to the window, thrusting the blinds aside and pushing the window high. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed. "Are you mad?"

I held his gaze, forcing myself to not be intimidated by it. "I saw what happened."

Realization flashed in his eyes, but he continued to play dumb. "It'd be nice of you to clarify, dearie."

Now it was my turn to snap, "Don't play dumb, Ash Ketchum. You know what I'm talking about. Now be a gentleman and help me up."

He didn't move. "Go home. You shouldn't be here."

I blinked, allowing a small smile to curl my lips. "Like that's gonna happen." Grabbing the windowsill, I began to lift myself up.

He watched me rather coldly for several moments. I was almost at stomach-level with the sill when a strong hand grabbed my wrist and hauled me the rest of the way through.

The hand let me go, and I landed rather unceremoniously in a pile of dirty clothes. I quickly got up, not wanting to be caught sitting on Ash's dirty underwear.

He folded his arms. "Alright. You're in. Now tell me what you want."

"To help you."

His face went slack for a moment, then hardened again. "Help? Haven't you done enough of that lately?"

His comment stung, but I held tough. "That was before I knew the truth. You can't keep facing this alone, Ash. It'll kill you."

It took him a bit to respond. I could see the inner workings of his mind twisting and turning, processing thoughts only he was meant to see.

"I've done it for eleven years. I can do it for two more."

I reached out to touch him, and he jerked away. I froze, only for him to mutter, "Sorry."

I pursed my lips. "Ash, this is what I mean. You can't finish growing up without someone to do it with. You can't go out into the real world thinking you have no one. That'll destroy you faster than any-"

"Don't you think I know that?" he burst out suddenly. "I _can't_ have friends! He won't let me! Every time I so much as look at someone, it comes back to bite me in the form of-of punches and kicks and-and I just can't!"

He whirled away from me, walking briskly towards the opposite side of the room. His head was down, his arms held tight to his body. I started toward him, but stopped when he spoke.

"You should leave... before he hurts _you_."

His words were so hollow, so _vulnerable_. I felt chills go up my spine, making the warm night outside seem suddenly miles away.

I swallowed hard, resisting the lump that was forming in my throat. "Ash..."

I took but a single step before something hard smashed against the door. The loud, drunken voice of Mr. Ketchum slammed through the wood, making my heart stop.

"Ash! What the fuck is going on in there!? Ash!"

The pure look of terror on the young man's face made my heart crack. "Nothing, Dad!"

"'Nothing' my fuckin' ass! Open this door! Now!" His fists slammed against the wood again, the impact so forceful I was sure the thing was just gonna come crashing to the ground.

I was so transfixed on the horror that was Ash's father that I didn't notice Ash himself come up beside me. He grabbed my shoulders and threw me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him motion toward his bed.

"I said open the fucking door god damn it!" Bang bang bang _bang!_

"Get under the bed," Ash hissed. I did as he told me to, sliding under just as he opened the door.

Ash's father stormed into the room, his giant bare feet slamming against the floor with such force it shook the entire house. I heard the sound of skin against skin and a cry.

"Don't you ever go makin' that much fuckin' noise ever again, you useless piece of shit!" The man snarled. "I don't care if you're fucking bleeding to death on this fucking carpet! When I say it's quiet time, I fucking mean it! Understand?"

I heard Ash mumble a "yes, sir".

"Good!" his father replied, his voice so loud it was making my ears ring. "Now seeing as you clearly can't be trusted to stay up and be quiet, you can go to fucking bed! And I swear to the great Lord above, if I hear one more sound outta you, oh-ho we're gonna have some problems." His voice twisted into a gnarly, raspy growl at the end of that sentence. "Some _huge_ fucking problems."

As the door slammed shut, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. From under the bed, I saw Ash's feet tip back as he fell onto his pile of clothes, the back of his head hitting the wall with a _thud_.

I crawled out from my safe spot. For his sake, I resisted a gasp when I saw the red mark on his face from where his father had slapped him.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes focused on some faraway place. "Oh my God... Oh my God..." he whispered, again and again.

Seeing him like that made my heart swell with a newfound anger. I launched forward, grabbing his wrist. That action seemed to jerk him back into the real world, as he ripped his wrist free from my grasp and jumped to his feet.

"Don't tell anyone about this," he said quickly, his eyes lit with fear. "If he finds out that the truth has leaked out... He'll kill me."

For once, the "he'll kill me" statement was no exaggeration. As much as I wanted to get Social Services in there to help him, I'd seen firsthand how good of an actor Ash's father was. They'd never believe the story, especially with it coming from two teenagers.

"I swear I won't tell anyone," I said, meaning it. "But you can't stay here, Ash."

"And where the hell am I supposed to go? I don't even know how to drive."

"I don't mean permanently. I mean right now." I extended my hand. "I can help you, if you'll let me. I... know a place."

He was hesitant. "How do I know you're not gonna take me to the cops or something?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "I won't. Trust me."

It was several moments before he accepted me, though he did not take my hand. "Okay."

I smiled. "Good."

Together, we crawled out the window, with him making sure to shut off the lights and close the blinds as we did. My heart began to pound as the two of us descended to ground level. I was doing it. I was actually sneaking out with him. Sure, it was for a good cause, but still, I was doing it... without my parents knowing.

I felt like such a rebel.

Once we were both down, we hid the ladder behind a long row of bushes lining the back of the house. We jumped the fence - Ash as usual leaving me to haul myself over - and headed off down the sidewalk.

Once we were out of the general vicinity of our two houses, we both let out sighs of relief.

Ash wiped his face with his hands, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this."

I laughed. "Yeah, neither can I. I'm proud of you."

He snorted. "Yeah, okay. No need to get mushy." He looked around a bit as we walked. "So where are we going, anyways?"

I smirked. "You'll see."

We were both quiet after that. It was nice, actually, to just walk with him. There was something about him that was just... comforting.

 **~A**

Walking beside her was, dare I say it, comforting.

Thinking that thought made me feel like the wimpiest man in the world. I mean, what kind of man lets a woman's presence alone make him feel comfortable? It was supposed to be the other way around. A man was supposed to be strong.

And yet, here with her, I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time.

When I saw where she was taking me, the broadest smile crossed my pale face.

The park.

When she saw my reaction, she laughed. "Remember this, huh?"

"Of course I do. It's the spot where you annoyed the hell out of me for the first time."

She gave me a light shove. "Shut up."

The place was empty, save for a group of college-aged guys smoking weed down in the gazebo. We steered clear of them, instead choosing to sit down on a park bench near the pond. I sank down into the wooden seat, heaving a huge sigh.

There was a light breeze that rustled the leaves of a tree above us. Fish splashed in the water, oddly still awake at such a time. In the distance, a couple walked, hand in hand.

"This is nice," I commented.

Misty smiled, her hands delicately folded in her lap. "Isn't it? When my parents and I first moved here, I came here a lot. I guess I wanted to get away from the boxes and the foreignness of a new place. I made my first friend here." She chuckled. "She was the one who convinced me to talk to you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

She was blushing slightly. "Yeah. I've always been shy around people I don't know."

I looked at her incredulousy. "Seriously?"

She laughed. "Seriously. You couldn't tell, that day I first met you? I was talking so fast and acting so hyper that I was sure it was obvious."

"I just thought you were one of those people. You know, the ones who try hard to be loved but who just end up driving people away with their _constant_ prying and over-the-top helpfulness."

That earned me a light hit across the arm. "You know, Ash, you'd have more people interested in helping you if you'd quit being such a jackass."

I smirked. "Takes one to know one."

"Okay, now you're just doing it on purpose."

"Only for you." I leaned my head back, resting it against the back of the bench and gazing up at the starry sky. "But seriously... Everything you've done for me, no matter how you did it... is appreciated."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn to give me a look of shock. It made me smile, seeing how an act of kindness from me was so new to her that it was actually surprising.

"Don't even," I warned her, half-joking. "I know, I know. 'Ash said something nice?'. But I mean it. No one has ever tried to help me like that, especially without knowing the truth about my father."

It took her a few moments to respond, which was odd for her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I scoffed. "It's not your fault my dad's the biggest ass on the planet."

"Ash... Can I ask you a question?"

I looked at her then. She looked hesitant, as if she were afraid that her next words would turn me into some kind of monster. I nodded. "Yeah."

Her fingers curled into her shorts, tugging at the fabric. She glanced nervously at the pond, and then back at me. "Your father... Has he always been like that?"

I stiffened. She jerked away from me immediately, launching into a frenzy. "I'm sorry! I just- I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"

I raised a hand to run my fingers through my hair. "No, no. It's okay. Nobody's asked me something like that before, so it just... surprised me. That's all."

She looked at me cautiously. "Are you sure?"

I laughed. "Yeah. It's fine. Um..." My vision returned to the sky, which seemed to offer some sort of comfort. "My dad used to be... normal, if you could call it that. He was always a bit introverted, but he was a good dad. It was my mom, though, who I was closest to.

"My mom and I used to do everything together. Every day after work, she'd take me down to this little playground - it's gone now - and let me screw around there for ages. She'd pull out some book and read, occasionally stopping to praise me whenever I ran up to show her some rock or leaf I'd found. Sometimes, she'd even let me get ice cream there. Moose Tracks was my favorite. I'd always insist on getting a large, even though I'd always end up pawning the last scoop off on my mom."

I looked to see if Misty was listening. She was- rather intently to be honest. She nodded, silently telling me to go on.

"I have a lot of good memories from that time. I remember this one time when my whole family went to Niagara Falls. Of course, I was very young at the time, so I only remember bits and pieces. The part I remember most vividly was when we went to this part that went behind the Falls. We all took a family picture... It was the last one we ever took."

I took a deep, shaky breath. It had been years since I'd even thought about my mom as much as I was at that moment. I'd pushed her existence to the back of my mind in favor of numbness. I'd chosen numbness as a defense against my father, who otherwise would've driven me to the grave long ago.

"My mother died when I was five years old. I don't know how. I could find out. Nothing is really stopping me, in theory. However, I refuse to. If my father were to find out that I'd been digging for information, it'd be a disaster. He doesn't want me to know, and I'm forced to respect that. Hell, he didn't even tell me that she died. Just that she went away. Any time I tried to press him for more, he'd beat me. So... I just stopped trying. Gave up. Just like a coward."

"You're not a coward, Ash."

I laughed scornfully. "Oh really? I can't even stand up to my own father. Every time the thought even crosses my mind, it makes me seize up in fear. I can barely even utter the word 'father' without fear coursing up my spine. How does that make me anything but a coward?"

She went to reach out, but chose not to. "A coward would have let his father's abuse consume him long ago. A coward would have killed himself to escape."

"I almost did."

I saw her swallow hard. I knew the whole thing was making her uncomfortable, but I didn't try and do anything about it. She chose to get involved, anyway.

"But you didn't," she argued. "You're still here. You're still fighting. And now, you've got someone to help you. You've got someone who's willing to stand beside you, despite your situation. Me."

I turned my whole body to face her. "Why do you bother? What's so special about me? I'm just some shadow-faced kid too caught up in his own problems to care about anybody else's. Why pick me, of all people, to care about?"

She pursed her lips. "Ash, it's because of those things that I wanted to help you. You needed help more than anyone else. I think that's why I gravitated toward you originally. The first time I saw you, the look on your face was so sad and so pained I couldn't help but feel a desire to wipe it away. I promised myself that I'd do whatever it took to make you happy." She paused. "I guess not knowing if my efforts are paying off is making me want to try even more. I just want to see you happy. That's all."

I looked at her, long and hard. Here was a girl who, despite all of my efforts to push her away, had continuously pushed to make my life worth living. She'd put so much effort into helping someone she didn't even know. And when she did find out the truth, she didn't run away as others had. She only stood stronger. Pushed harder.

And she did it all for me.

Something inside me snapped at that point. The barrier I had erected, the one that kept me from truly feeling, broke. A surge of feelings, many of them foreign, spiraled through me in a crazy pattern of chills and butterflies. My confidence skyrocketing as a result of the sudden breakdown, I did what I never would have done without it.

I lurched forward, planting my lips against hers in a rather messy fashion. She made a noise that sounded a lot like a surprised squeal, but quickly relaxed against me. Despite my extreme inexperience in the kissing department, I found myself feeling quite comfortable in such a position.

I would have stayed like that forever, but unfortunately there existed a need for me to come up for air. So I pulled back, feeling the heat crawl up my cheeks as I did so.

She, too, was blushing, hard. She looked at me, stumbling over her words as she tried to find some sort of response to what had just happened. Her stuttering and stammering amused me, and as such I let it continue until she found it in her to form words again.

"Ash, I-"

"Shh," I silenced her. "You don't need to say anything."

And so we sat, staring at each other, both so lost in the moment a bomb could have gone off without us noticing. I was overwhelmed by feelings, just enough to perhaps dampen my usual sharpness, if only for a little while. The fact that she didn't try to back away, didn't try to protest, told me that the moment was meant to be stretched out and cherished. It was a pivotal moment, not just in our relationship, but in our lives. We had to hold on to it, for otherwise it would be lost.

And so we did.

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 **And so it happens! The moment you've all been waiting for! I have to say, this is probably my favorite chapter. I just had so much fun writing this. More to come.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Anonymous1O1**


	8. VII

**I know that I still have to update The Kanto Journeys, but for now I've decided to put it on hold for just a bit. I want to focus on finishing this story and completing some other ones I have planned before I go any further with TKJ. This does not mean I'm abandoning it; I'm merely taking a break from it as I feel a bit burned out over it right now. I don't know how long it will be until I resume; it may be only a few weeks or upwards of a couple of months.**

 **Shoutouts:**

 **King Reeses - Thank you; I'm glad you liked it.**

 **Alina 122 - As always, your reviews make me smile. Thank you~**

 **JordanMax - I had a feeling you would fangirl over that ;)**

 **Guest - Haha, yep.**

 **Kitty - That means a lot! Thank you!**

 **Tpclique - *gives more story***

 **LEGAL-EAGLE53 - Thank you for leaving so many reviews!**

 **The featured story for this chapter is The End of Team Rocket by Crestilia. "After the crisis in Kalos has ended, Ash Ketchum is back in Pallet Town. One conversation later, he's back on another ambiguous adventure around Kanto. With an overpowered Pikachu and a terrible sense of direction at his side, the Pokemon Trainer is on his way to a heck load of inconvenience... and possibly** **some Team Rocket trouble." It has an interesting plot, and is worth a read if you're looking for one.**

 **This story currently has 51 reviews, 55 favorites, and 65 followers. Thank you!**

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 _~ "Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything." ~_

 _\- George Bernard Shaw_

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Movies always go to extremes when portraying the whole "friends kiss" situation. They either have the two fall in love and live happy ever after, which is stupid, or they go and make things all awkward between the two... which is more along the lines of what I was expecting.

But, turns out movies really aren't that accurate in regards to portraying this type of situation, regardless of how they do it. I know, not surprising, but still. One would at least think they'd have to get at least something right about such a topic.

Nope.

Misty and I went on as normal after our little moment in the park. She still hounded after me with her overbearing selflessness and I still bit her head off for it every single time.

In all honesty, I was glad for that. Our feelings were out, yet they hadn't changed a single thing. We still bickered and snapped at one another, yet somehow it felt even better to do so than it had before. Perhaps now the scathing insults and sharp exchanges had more affectionate undertones. Or maybe I was just getting used to it.

Who knows.

What I did know, however, was that I was glad to have her. Yeah, I admit it. I was glad to have her. What I told her that night wasn't a lie. It was pure, from-the-heart honesty. I did appreciate her. I needed her. I wasn't about to admit that again, however, and she knew that.

And yet, she'd still pester me about it.

She was doing just that as we walked to Chemistry that morning. Her eyes caught sight of a couple walking hand-in-hand in front of us. She gave me a friendly jab with her elbow, a grin spreading across her face.

"You know, Ash," she started, "It'd be nice if you did that once in a while."

I gave her a death stare. "Don't even start."

She gave me a look of mocking innocence. "Start what? All I'm saying is that it'd be nice of you to hold my hand once in a while. You know, like a man."

I snarled at her through my teeth. "Shut up! People are gonna start getting ideas."

"And what's wrong with that?" She shoved herself right up next to me, sending me into a near panic attack. "Does the thought of being romantic in public scare you?"

I quickened my pace, trying desperately to get away from her. God did she know how to send me running like a cat from a dog.

She continued following me, however, swooning like she was reading some kind of male model magazine.

"Ash, where are you going? Aren't you going to walk with your sweet angel?"

I just shook my head, trying to block her out. I, of course, knew that she was just pushing my buttons, but the rest of the school did not. They'd all assume that she was sweet on me, which in turn would earn me the teasing of Gary.

Which it had. And it did again.

"Hey loser," Gary sneered. The little piece of fecal matter leaned against the locker beside mine, his face twisted into a sneer. "How's your sweet baboo?" Behind him, his lackeys laughed.

I refused to face him, instead keeping my face buried in my locker. "Fine."

"Have you even kissed her yet? Bet you haven't!"

I clenched my fists. "Actually, Gary, I have."

He let out a cackling laugh. "Hear that, boys? He says he's kissed her! Bet he's never even held her hand, let alone kissed her!"

I slammed my locker door shut, so hard that it sent a harsh vibration through the whole row. "Why do you care? I'm not even dating her, nor do I think you have any interest in her, so why the hell do you care?"

He stepped forward, getting so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face. It smelled like tuna. "And what if I was? What if I wanted her for myself? What would you do then, Ashy-boy?"

I stared him down, my fists shaking as a result of my growing fury.

"What if you saw me kissing her? Holding her? What if I took her to her first ball? What if I took her on her first date? What if I took _all_ of her firsts?"

I shoved him then. I pushed out with all my might, my hands connecting hard with his chest. He flew backward, obviously not prepared for the strike. He hit the lockers with a loud _bang!_ as his bootlickers started chanting "fight, fight, fight!".

Gary just stood there with a stupid grin on his face as I charged toward him, arm drawn back in preparation to deliver a ruthless punch.

Before I could get to him, however, cold hands grabbed my outstretched arm.

"Ash," a soft voice close to my ear said. "Don't."

I turned my head to see Misty standing right behind me, a warning in her eyes. I let her bring my arm back into its normal position, my anger fading.

She shook her head slowly. "It's not worth it, Ash. Don't let him antagonize you. He's only doing it so you can get in trouble. Don't give him the satisfaction."

I pursed my lips. "Yeah."

Behind me, Gary decided to open his bullshit-spewing pipe again. "Aw, isn't that cute? He does what she says! Of course, what else can you expect from a weak-minded fool?"

I looked back over at him, but didn't say anything. Misty was still a strong presence at my shoulder, and I knew she'd just stop me if I tried to.

After giving him my worst stare for as long as I deemed necessary, I walked away.

He shouted after me and cussed me out, but I refused to give him another glance. Not with Misty by my side, at least. Alone, maybe. But not with her. I wasn't going to let her see me stoop any closer to Gary's level.

We walked to lunch together from there. For once, Misty left the jokes out of the conversation we had.

"Thanks for your help back there," I said quietly. "I get a bit carried away sometimes."

She murmured something I couldn't quite hear, then added in an audible tone, "Anybody would have gotten worked up over that. It's not your fault."

I shrugged. "Still, you saved me from a lot of trouble. Before you came here, I got sent to in-school for fighting with him. The principal told me that if it happened again, I'd be suspended. So... you basically saved me from getting my ass kicked out."

She shook her head. "Even though I'm sure they're aware of how much of a jerk he is. Unbelievable."

I scoffed. "That's school administration for you. Gary's popular and he somehow manages to make good grades, so he gets free passes for everything he does."

"School officials are dumb."

"Agreed." I looked down at her hands, which were swinging by her sides. "Why were your hands so cold? When you grabbed me before, I thought you were going to give me frostbite or something."

She took a glance at her hands, which were still slightly red. "Oh. Yeah. I was outside with my Environmental Science class. We're growing plants, and my group's experiment is to see if watering each plant with water at a different temperature would affect their growth. I had to handle ice for cooling the water for one plant."

"You take more than one science class?"

She rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah," she admitted sheepishly. "I really like the sciences."

I laughed. "I'm surprised someone actually can."

She gave me a confused look. "You don't?"

"Nah."

"But my mom told me that you said that you wanted to be a doctor."

I gave a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, I did, but that may have been a bit of a lie. I honestly haven't thought much about what I want to do."

"Well, I think you'd make a great doctor."

I gave her a look. "Seriously?"

She smirked. "Seriously." Before I could say anything further, she veered away from me and joined the lunch line. Shaking my head, I made my way into the cafeteria.

As usual, I sat alone. Misty must have told me a thousand times that I could sit with her and May, but each time I rejected her offer. I liked sitting alone. Lunch was the one time of the day when I could choose whether or not to deal with people. I wanted to take advantage of that as best I could.

The only thing that I had was a cold slice of pizza, since my dad had neglected to do the shopping. His drinking had gotten more frequent. He'd often come home drunk as a skunk, which he never normally did. Typically, he'd come home sober, yell at me some, then retreat to his office and get drunk behind closed doors.

Not lately.

I found myself feeling concerned over the change. Not because I really cared all that much about when he chose to get drunk, but because he obviously had to drive home from whatever bar it was he got drunk at. The last thing I needed was him winding up with a fine and a revoked license for drunk driving. Just thinking about how much worse he'd become as a result made me shudder.

There was unfortunately nothing I could do about it, however. I simply had to be an observer. My job was to watch and not interfere. If he got caught drunk driving, it would be because he'd brought it on himself, not because my efforts to help him failed. I just hoped he didn't wind up killing someone.

My eyes darted up just in time to see Gary walk into the cafeteria with his groupies. He looked thoroughly pissed about something. I kept my gaze trained on him as he crossed the room, coming to a grinding halt right in front of Sampson, one of the local potheads.

"Stand up!" the spiky-haired kid screamed. "Stand up and face me, you sick motherfucker! You wanna touch my girl, huh? Not on my fucking watch! Stand up!"

The whole lunchroom was quiet now. Everyone was watching as red-faced Gary tried to goad Sampson into a fight.

Seeing that his shouting was getting him nowhere, Gary decided to take more drastic measures. He grabbed Sampson by the collar of his shirt and hauled him out of his chair.

That's when the lunch monitors got involved. One of them grabbed Gary as soon as he touched the freshman, grabbing him by the shoulders and jerking him back. He was so surprised by the sudden act that he released the boy, who quickly retreated out of Gary's reach.

The lunch monitor hauled a protesting Gary out of the cafeteria, with the latter snarling curses directed at the school. A wide grin spread across my countenance.

Karma sucks.

I looked over at where Misty was sitting. She caught my gaze and smiled, a knowing look in her eyes.

I went home that day feeling satisfied.

As usual, I was the first one home. I took the only thing left in the fridge, half a block of cheese, and ate it. I knew full well that what was there was all I was going to get, so I was damn well going to savor it.

While cutting through one particular spot in the cheese, I came to a tough spot. As I tried to force the knife through it, my thumb - unbeknownst to me - slipped a bit too close to the blade. Next thing I knew, I had a nasty slice in my thumb and was dripping blood all over the wood.

Sighing, I wiped the droplets off of the table with a paper towel and went upstairs for the first aid kit. I found it buried underneath a bunch of crap in the linen closet. Fortunately, there were enough supplies for me to treat the wound without much difficulty. I poured some rubbing alcohol over it and wrapped it tight in a bandage. Once I was satisfied with it, I made my way back toward the stairs.

I didn't know then why I did it. I still don't know why I did it. As I passed my father's office - which had been left open - I looked into it. I normally never did, since most of the time I spent upstairs was either in my room or under my father's watchful eye.

I saw what looked like a photo album sitting open next to a half-empty bottle of wine. Deep down, I knew better than to go into his office. My father had forbade me from going in there since I was young. Still, curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself walking into his office for the first time in years.

The book sitting on the desk was in fact a photo album. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the pictures on the pages it was opened to.

They were all of my mother at various stages of her life. I raised a hand to my face, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.

I had very faint memories of what my mother looked like, so to see her before me in all her glory was incredible. She had elegant brown hair, sharp eyes and a kind smile, the latter of which was one of the few things I remember about her.

I began flipping through the pages. As the photos progressed, they inched closer and closer to modern times. Dad and mom on their wedding day. Mom when she was pregnant with me. My grandma holding a newborn me. Mom, dad and me sitting together on a park bench.

"She was an amazing woman, you know."

My head snapped up. My father was standing hunched over in the doorway in a clear state of drunkenness. His eyes were glazed over as he looked at me.

"D-dad!" I stuttered. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"She loved life," he commented, cutting me off. It was as if he wasn't even listening. I backed up until my back hit the wall as he came closer. He took the album in his hands and looked at the pictures, tears welling in his eyes.

"Did I ever tell you how she died?" he asked suddenly.

The question shocked me. My father, the man who had insisted on keeping my mother's death a secret for so long, was about to tell me how it all went down? What the hell?

But of course, I wasn't going to pass up on the opportunity. Pressing down the fleeting concern that it was a trick, I said, "No, sir."

He chuckled softly. "It was a terrible night. Rain like you wouldn't believe. I had to work late, so your mother agreed to pick you up from after-school daycare. The two of you went out to eat at a McDonald's. When she told me your plans, I talked her into eating in the restaurant in the hopes that the rain would slow down in the meantime. I didn't want her driving in it."

He walked past me, leaning against the wall to stare out the window. The sun was setting outside, casting an orange hue over everything.

"So the two of you went. While you were eating, she decided to go out to the car for some reason. Probably... left something. Anyways, as she was walking out a man approached her. He asked her for some money, and when she refused... he shot her in the stomach."

My stomach dropped.

My father raised a hand to his face, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He took in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Someone in the restaurant saw it as it happened. He tried to run after the man, but ended up getting shot, too. The man then fled, but ended up being struck by a car coming around the curve as he did.

"Then the ambulances came. One of the first responders phoned me. I was home by then. By the time I got to her... it was bad. The bullet tore through her liver. They tried to operate, but it wasn't very successful. She died the following morning."

I stared down at the place where the book had been. I tried to recall something, _anything_ , from that time. Anything of those final moments with my mother. But I could not.

My father slammed his fist against the wall, making me jump. "Dammit, if I had just-". His voice faltered on the last word.

I turned to look at him. He had his other hand shoved in his mouth, his teeth biting down so hard on it I could see blood. His face was red, his eyes dark.

After a few moments he removed his hand. He looked at me, then out the window, then down at himself. He shook his head, over and over again. "I tried."

Looking at him, standing there in his most vulnerable state, I almost felt bad for him. I felt the smallest ounce of sympathy work its way up my chest. This was a man who had lost the thing he cared most about by trying to keep it safe. He lost his wife because he had tried to keep her off of roads he knew could very well kill her. In the end, however, the real killer ended up being in the exact place he thought was safe. It was his choice, not hers, that brought her face-to-face with death.

How awful must that have been?

He reached out to me then. His hand came forward, coming to a rest on my shoulder. His eyes shone with a mixture of sadness and alcohol. "You forgive me, don't you? You understand."

My eyes met his for the first time in eleven years.

I saw at the front of them a genuine desire to receive my forgiveness. He wanted me to accept him. To tell him that I understood his position. He had made a move that had proved itself costly. His failure to protect his wife had broken him. Reduced him to a man that did nothing more than drink and beat on his own son because he didn't know how else to cope. He wanted me to understand.

But I couldn't.

Even though I truly did feel bad for him over what happened, even though I knew he didn't want any of it to happen, I couldn't. I couldn't accept him. Not after what he'd did to me. What he still did to me. My mother... If she were in his position, she never would have resorted to abuse. She loved me too much.

"I can't," I admitted, my voice cracking. I tried to pull away from him, but he grabbed my arm.

"Hey," he said, his voice firm. "Don't walk away from me. Not now."

A past me would have submitted. A past me would have broken down and told him that I understood. But the present me wouldn't. Even though I was still scared to death, the smallest amount of bravery was finally working its way into me.

I jerked harder, but he held strong. "I said I can't," I said, my own voice coming out stronger than before.

Fury sparked in his eyes as I continued to struggle. Finally I managed to pull hard enough, wrenching myself free from his grasp. Fast as lightning I spun on my foot and got away from him.

"Hey!" he screamed after me, his voice shaking the very foundations of the house. "Don't you dare walk away from your own dad!"

I stopped a bit before the doorway. Looking over my shoulder, I said, "I would never walk away from my dad."

"Then get back here!"

I stared at him, forcing my gaze to stay level with his even though I wanted nothing more than to drop it. My heart pounded against my ribcage, blood roaring in my ears.

"But I would from my father."

I walked out.


	9. VIII

**Well, we made it, guys. A year and a half later, and we made it. The final chapter. The end of what's been an awesome road. You guys have been great throughout all of this, and I'd like to thank you for that. Your support made all the difference, and I'm proud to be able to give you guys the ending that you deserve.**

 **At some point, I will be uploading the first chapter of a new story. I haven't yet decided what that story is going to be (I'm debating between three ideas), but expect it to most likely be AAML. Until then, I am planning on releasing one or two one-shots, since I haven't written any of those in a while.**

 **Shout-outs:**

 **Alina 122 - Your reviews always make my day. And no, it wouldn't make you too sentimental if you said that you cried; it makes me happy to know that my writing has invoked such emotions from someone. And don't worry; I have plenty more stories up my sleeve to come after AotP. It's just a matter of choosing which one comes next ;)**

 **SpencerDorman - Thank you very much!**

 **LEGAL-EAGLE53 - I don't recall ever describing his dad with red eyes, but maybe I did and just can't find it now? Anyways, thanks for the review!**

 **Bluepaw265 - Thank you so much!**

 **JordanMax - That's okay; your reviews are always worth waiting for! And you know what they say: a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.**

 **AshuraJaeger - I'm sorry for your loss! I was bullied, too, so I too can sympathize with Ash. You're definitely right when you say that sometimes one person can make all the difference.**

 **Deuce141 - You'll just have to wait and see!**

 **Danika11pikachu - Thank you!**

 **The featured story for this chapter is Pikachu Tales by AmyBieberKetchum. "** **A collection of oneshots of Ash and Misty's life with all their friends from Pikachu's point of view." It's a cute spin on AAML that I think a lot of you will enjoy.**

 **This story currently has 60 reviews, 64 favorites, and 71 followers. Thank you so much!**

* * *

 _~ "_ _Power is what men seek and any group that gets it will abuse it_ _." ~_

 _\- Lincoln Steffens_

* * *

I didn't stop walking after I left that room. I whisked myself down the stairs, out the front door, and along the sidewalk, away from my house.

On the outside, I had a tough face on. After years of having to force one on, by that point I think it had become a permanent part of my features. That was all right by me, of course. It would help keep others from bothering me.

On the inside, however, I was a frightened mess.

I had just stood up to my father. The one man who, if he wanted, could bring hell to Earth for me if he so desired. The man who, with just a flick of his finger, could send me scurrying up to my room faster than a mouse after cheese.

What would he do now? Several glances over my shoulder confirmed that he hadn't followed me out of the house. So then what was he doing? Calling the police? Getting ready to come hunt me down in his car? Passing out drunk on the floor?

Those thoughts quickened my pace. I knew that, deep down, I shouldn't have taken the risk of fighting back against my father. I should have just submitted to his demands. That way, the worst I would have gotten was maybe a smack or two. Now, however, I was in for something ten times as bad.

I'd never stood up to my father like that before. Even when I'd called social services on him all those years ago, it wasn't standing up to him directly. All of my attempts to "fight back" were either indirect or under my breath.

He'd tried to starve me after I tried to get help. Now that I had openly defied him - which in his eyes was worse than spilling the beans -, I couldn't even begin to fathom what he was going to do.

I considered going and seeking asylum at Misty's house, but then decided against it. I had a feeling that my father knew of the friendship Misty and I had developed. He'd surely check her house first for me.

And so, I kept walking. I eventually ended up in a quiet part of town, standing in front of a now-closed convenience store. There were two newspaper boxes about a foot in front of the concrete front wall. I decided to take a rest behind there, as it would make it more difficult for anyone to see me from the road. I just had to hope that no police officers would come by and drive me off.

I sat down on the dusty, cracked sidewalk behind the metal boxes. It was cold, sure, but I could stand it.

As I sat there, I milled over my options. I knew for a fact that going back to my house at that moment would be like signing my own death warrant. I had nobody in town that would even consider giving me refuge except for Misty.

So then what was left? I most certainly couldn't start living behind a couple of newspaper delivery boxes.

I knew that, eventually, I'd end up having to face my father again. Despite my submissive nature in regards to him, I was not a coward. Every fiber in my being screamed for me to take the next bus out of town, but I resisted the temptation. He'd find me sooner or later.

No, I had to go back and face him. Just not at that moment.

* * *

I spent the whole night behind those stands. When morning came, the owner of the store found me and drove me off. Apparently my presence was "hurting business".

Going to school that day was not an option. I had a feeling that my father would be there, waiting to take me home and beat the holy shit out of me.

So, instead, I wandered through town. I visited some shops, telling the workers there that I was "just looking". I'd spend as much time as I thought appropriate before leaving.

At some point, I stopped in to a candy shop. I managed to convince the worker there to let me have some free candy. I guess I must have looked pretty shitty, since she let me have some without too much of a problem.

I took the candy down to the park. My legs were starting to get sore from walking around all day.

I ended up finding the bench that Misty and I shared on that day that seemed like an eternity ago. I sat down on it and began eating my candy. As I did so, I watched a young couple play with their toddler son. The sight of the little boy and his parents flying a huge kite together brought a small smile to my face.

I was just finishing my candy when a soft, soothing breeze picked up. The fresh smell of coming rain filled my nose, along with (of course) a tinge of cigarette smoke and stagnant water.

Above me, dark clouds were beginning to roll in. Claps of thunder began going off somewhere in the distance. The family with the kite quickly packed their things and headed off.

I stood up, ready to do the same. Every part of me wanted to just stay in the park, but I knew that I couldn't. It would be better for me in the short and long run to just get it all over with as soon as possible.

As I headed home, it started to rain. It started as a light drizzle at first, but soon had picked up to a steady downpour.

By the time I got home, I was soaked down to the bone and shivering. As my hand closed around the doorknob, I sent a silent prayer to whoever was up above.

My father, as I expected, was waiting for me. He was standing a few feet from the front door, his hands behind his back. I could tell just by looking at his eyes that he was sober - and furious.

His lips curled into what was anything but a pleasant smile as I closed the door.

"Glad to see my beloved son finally decided to return home," he sneered.

I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." My voice trembled like that of a young boy's.

He started toward me. "Lovely. Perhaps now, then, he can explain to his father the reason as to why he didn't come home last night."

"I-"

He cut me off, which both relieved and terrified me. "Was it because he's gotten too big for his britches? Does he think he's a man? Does he think that he has the right to treat his own father however he wishes?"

"No, sir."

He laughed. "No? Did you just say _no?_ I find that amusing. Do you want to know why I find that amusing, Ash? Go on, do you?"

"Y-yes, sir."

He lunged at me then. A small gasp escaped from my mouth as he slammed me back against the front door with one arm.

"Well, then, I'll _tell_ you why. It's because just last night, you told me that you would walk away from me. And then you did. You did, and now you're just coming back, nearly a whole day later. You know what that tells me, Ash? It tells me that you think you're stronger than me. It tells me that you think you're better than me. And, most importantly, it tells me that you think you're _superior_." He hung on that last word.

He leaned in close, so close. "And we both know that we can't have you thinking like that. When the animal gets stubborn, the master must get tough. Isn't that how it goes, Ash?"

"Y-yes, sir, that's h-how it goes."

"But," he said, stepping back. "When the animal proves that it is strong enough, the master must let it go. So go on then, Ash. If you think that you are stronger than me, prove it. Prove to me that you're ready for the freedom that you so crave and fight me."

Confusion cascaded over me like a waterfall. "What?"

His voice raised to a deafening scream. "I said fucking punch me, you worthless twat, if you think you're so good!"

His demand turned my blood to ice. He wanted me to hit him?

"Go on!" he screamed. "What the fuck are you waiting for, the second coming of Christ? Or would you just rather go back to your old life, serving me as your worthless ass was meant to do?"

I curled my hand into a fist. I knew that he was being serious, but the request still made me want to curl up in a ball and hide.

My muscles tightened as I drew my arm back. I still couldn't believe that any of this was happening. I screamed at myself to just submit to him, but somehow I knew that doing that would only make things even worse.

So I swung.

My fist connected with his face. I heard a slight crack as his head snapped to the side.

I had dreamed of being able to hit him ever since he'd started abusing me. I had imagined the rush that it would give me. The joy. I had always pictured the feeling of my fist connecting with his jaw as a wondrous feeling that could compare to nothing else.

But in reality, now that it had happened, I felt only fear.

My father recovered rather quickly. He was still smiling, despite the fact that a bit of blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth. I must have hit him harder than I realized.

"Well, then," he snarled. "It looks like someone's finally grown a pair."

What happened then was so crazy and so chaotic it gives me chills to this day.

He hit me back. I crumpled to the floor, pain reverberating through my skull. I felt him shove me to the floor. I rolled on to my back just in time to catch another whack to my face.

"Fight me!" he ordered.

Whether it was out of desperation or submissiveness I'll never know, but I did as he asked and fought back. I brought my knee up into his stomach. The air all rushed out of his lungs in a painful gasp.

I used that moment of distraction to punch him in the jaw again. He stumbled off of me, and at that second something fell from his hand and clattered on the floor.

A knife.

He had a knife.

I made a jump for the weapon, not wanting it to fall back into his hands. His hand connected with my chest, however, knocking me away from it.

Before I could recover, he grabbed the knife again. I started backing away from him, nearly screeching in terror. He came toward me, a fury unlike any I'd seen before in his eyes.

He was going to kill me.

I managed to get up. I grabbed the nearest thing - a lamp - and swung it at him. He ducked underneath my swing and lunged upward, knife extended.

I rolled to the side, just narrowly avoiding him. The knife sank into the couch; I heard him let out an angry shout as it did.

As he worked the blade out of the cushion, I made a break for the front door. All I had to do was get out into the open. He wouldn't follow me out there. Not with murderous intent, anyways. Not in front of the neighbors.

Before I could make it, however, he caught up to me. He grabbed me from behind, and I felt the cold metal edge of the knife against my throat. Every inch of my body seized up in sheer terror of what was next.

"Now," he hissed in my ear. "Let's see how tough you really are."

He forced me toward the basement door, the knife still against my throat. I didn't dare struggle, for I knew that to do so could be deadly.

My father flung open the basement door with so much force it was a wonder the thing didn't shatter into a million pieces. He was still for a moment after that, allowing me a moment to take in the pitch black below.

He spun me around to face him then.

"Give me your arms."

I must have hesitated, because he repeated in a yell, "Give me your fucking arms!"

My arms presented themselves to him, almost as if they had a mind of their own. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably.

"Please stop," I choked out, my voice cracking. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of my eyes.

Above me, my father roared with laughter. "Aww, is the little tough guy scared?" he taunted. "What happened to the big show, Ashy-boy? Is your bark tougher than your bite?"

"You don't have to do this," I begged. "You can take away my food. Keep me out of school. Lock me in the basement again. Anything but this."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that." A wicked smile suddenly appeared on his face. "Just remember what they say: 'pain is weakness leaving the body'."

He slashed at my wrists then. I screamed as blood squirted everywhere, across both him and me.

"Oh, look," he spat, "you got my clothes dirty. What a naughty child you are."

He let go of my arms. I immediately hugged them close to my body. The blood soaked through my thin shirt in a near instant. It was warm against my otherwise cold skin.

My father grabbed me by my throat. I thought for sure that this was it. He was going to choke me, or snap my neck. Something.

But instead, he gave me a rough shove. I didn't have time to react before I was tumbling head over heels down the stairs.

When my head finally hit the concrete floor of the basement, I looked up to see him silhouetted in the doorway. He stayed there for just a moment before slamming the door shut, bathing me in complete darkness.

The pain in my arms was extreme. I was growing dizzy from the amount of blood I was losing, but somehow I managed to get up. My only thought was that I had to end the bleeding before it ended me.

I stumbled around that basement for what felt like ages before finally coming across something. It was a box of what I assumed to be old clothes.

I picked up the first two things I saw and tied them tight around my bleeding wrists. I worked quickly, pushing down the nausea that was beginning to rise in my stomach.

My work was completed just in time, as within seconds of tying that last knot, I slumped against the wall and passed out.

* * *

I have no idea how long I was down there before help finally came. It could have been just a few hours, or even a day or two. I'll probably never know.

All I do know is that I spent that time curled up on the floor of my basement, trying not to freeze to death. The basement in that house was not well-insulated, which meant temperatures could drop quite a lot at night. I even tried dumping the rest of those clothes on top of myself, but they didn't help much.

Eventually, I heard some talking, and the basement door opened. I was bathed with light, and as I squinted against it I could make out the figures of two people.

One of the people shouted. I flinched, but remained still.

Several people came stampeding down the stairs. It took me a few moments to process everything, but I eventually came to the conclusion that they were cops and paramedics.

Through the haze of near-unconsciousness, I was barely able to understand what they were saying. All I managed to make out was a short "he must be his".

A stretcher was brought down the stairs, and the paramedics lifted me on to it. I must have slipped out of consciousness then, because the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed with cops and medical personnel all around.

I was hooked up to an I.V., and both of my wrists were bandaged. I tried to raise them, only to find that I didn't have the strength to.

"Easy," a tall man in a white coat told me. "You're still recovering. Don't try to move."

I managed to turn my head and look at him. "What happened?" I rasped. "To him."

The doctor looked rather nervously at the cops. One of the officers stepped forward, hands on his belt.

"Do you mind if we speak to the young man privately?" the officer asked.

He nodded. "Of course." He stepped out of the room.

The officer took his seat. He placed his hand on my arm, which made me flinch.

"Your father is dead," he told me gently. "We found him in the park early yesterday morning. The post-mortem examination is not done yet, but it looks as if he may have drunk himself to death."

My father was dead.

I could scarcely believe what he was telling me. The man that had tormented me for over eleven years was gone. I'd tolerated him for what seemed like an eternity, and now it was over.

"If you don't mind," the man continued. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Standard procedure, of course.

I nodded to give him my consent.

He took out a pad of paper and a pencil. "Alright, then. First question. And if at any time you feel sick, tell me and we'll put this on hold."

With a jerk of his pencil, he gestured toward my injuries. "When we found you, your wrists appeared to have been slashed. How did that happen?"

I hesitated, my instinctive fear of the consequences of telling the truth bubbling up once more. I pushed it down, however, and reminded myself that I needn't worry any more.

"My father," I murmured, "did it. We got into a fight. Or, rather, he provoked me into one. He's always been abusive. Has been for years now. Right before he... died. He approached me after I got home and taunted me. He told me that he wanted me to prove to him that I deserved freedom. He kept on pushing me, telling me to fight him... until I finally did."

I was surprised at how easily the truth came out. I'd been expecting it to stick in my throat like a rock. And yet, it was coming out as smooth as butter.

"We got into a physical fight after that," I continued. "He eventually overpowered me and pulled a knife. He sliced my wrists before pushing me down the stairs."

The cop was silent for a moment as he took down all of the information. A slightly surprised look was on his face. Apparently he had been expecting some other kind of story, like a suicide attempt or something.

He asked me a few more questions about this and that. I answered them as best as I could, but by the seventh or eighth question I was getting pretty sick of it.

Around that time, a young nurse popped her head in. "May I interrupt?"

The officer who was interviewing me nodded. "Yes, of course. We were just finishing, anyways."

He and his accomplices shuffled out of my room. The nurse stepped in, a sweet smile on her face.

"I have a young woman here who says that she knows you. May she come in?"

I nodded, already knowing who it was. "Of course. Send her in."

The nurse left.

As the seconds ticked by folowing her departure, I found my fingers curling into the bedsheet in anticipation. There was no denying it anymore; I _wanted_ to see her. Perhaps not for the reasons that some may think - not at that time - but for the fact that she was the only person who I felt even remotely understood.

It felt like a lifetime before she came in. A wide smile broke my previously-stoic expression.

She rushed over to me. "Oh, Ash, I'm so glad that you're all right!" She threw her arms around me in a hug, and I did my best to reciprocate.

After a couple of moments, she pulled back. There were small tears in her eyes. "When you didn't show up to school, I knew that something must be wrong. You never miss school. Not once in these past few months have you been absent, even when you had the flu that one time."

She wiped at one eye with a finger. "And when I heard about your dad? Well, then, I _knew_ things weren't right. So I turned the police to your house, and insisted that they check every nook and cranny until they found you."

This revelation brought tears to my own eyes. Here was this girl, once again going out of her way to try and help me out. The me that would have pushed her away six months prior found himself instead reaching out to hug her again.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She nodded as we separated again. "There's no need to thank me, Ash. I did what any good person would do."

I gave a somewhat-bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, it sure took long enough for those 'good people' to show up."

She pursed her lips but said nothing.

A few minutes of silence stretched between us before I finally decided to speak again. "I can't believe he's really gone."

She shook her head. "I know. He must have felt guilty over what he did and got himself a little too drunk."

I gave her a serious look then. "No, Misty. It wasn't that. He didn't want to face the repercussions if I died. He knew that, somehow, they'd figure it out. And so, he drank himself dead in the park. He was a coward, but don't mistake him for a guilty man."

She sighed. "I guess so. I just find it hard to believe that there wasn't any part of him that was good. Even the smallest part."

"Well, then, I guess that's the difference between you and me. You see everyone for how they should be, and I see everyone for how they are."

"And is that a bad thing?"

I shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it."

After that, we sat in silence. Even though no words were being exchanged, I still felt at peace. I knew that she wasn't judging me. And for me, that was all I needed.

At last, she gasped, reaching out to touch my arm. "Ash, look at that!"

I twisted my neck, just barely able to follow her gaze and look out the window. Outside, the sky had turned a beautiful hue of pink and orange. Wisps of cloud were streaked across the sky, giving it an almost surreal look.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured.

I nodded. "It sure is."

It was true. Sitting there with Misty, I felt as if no sunset had ever been brighter.

* * *

 **Once again, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking by me throughout this journey. It's been an honor to tell this tale, and I look forward to sharing more of my thoughts with you in the future. There will be an epilogue to this story that will be posted soon, but other than that there will be no sequel. I have seen this story to completion, and I see no reason to attempt a full-blown sequel.**

 **If any of you out there who are reading this are victims of abuse, please, seek help. There are many resources out there to help you. It's never too late. I wish all of you the best, and I will see you down the road first with the epilogue, and then with my next story.**

 **All my best,**

 **\- Nony**


	10. Epilogue

**If you wish to review the final chapter and/or the epilogue, please make sure that you're logged in and not reviewing anonymously. That way, I can send you a message thanking you for your review.**

* * *

I guess it's true that there's light at the end of every tunnel.

It's been ten years since my father drank himself to death. I ended up spending the rest of my high school years living with my aunt. It was nice. She treated me well, and she never missed an opportunity to remind me that she loved me. She even let me visit my hometown every so often.

I chose to keep in touch with the family that ended up buying my old home, at her insistence. They had a son who was just a couple of years younger than me. We talked on Skype a lot, and sometimes we'd play video games over the Internet together. It was nice to finally have a guy friend.

As for Misty, the two of us grew apart after high school. She went away to some fancy college on the west coast, while I stuck to my local community college. I dated a few girls here and there, but never really clicked with any of them in a way that screamed "forever".

Then, by some stroke of luck, I ran into her again during my senior year. I had been feeling somewhat low after a recent breakup, so my aunt bought me a trip to San Francisco. While I was there, I ended up seeing her at the Golden Gate Bridge.

We talked for a while, and she revealed that after she finished her undergraduate degree, she was moving to New Orleans.

Of course, I was disappointed. I wanted nothing more than for her to move back home, so that we could pick things up where we left off. However, I could understand her decision. There wasn't much for her to do with her degree back where I grew up.

And so, I returned home feeling even more dejected than when I left. Once my aunt heard about what had happened, however, she insisted that I pack my bags and go to New Orleans myself. "A good love," she told me, "should never be wasted."

It took a lot of convincing, but finally I conceded. After I got my degree, I packed a single suitcase and booked a one-way flight to New Orleans. Once there, I used what little money I had to rent an apartment.

After a few days of searching, I found her again. She was living on the other side of the city, but that was okay. She still assured me that we could still see each other just the same. And so, I did what I'd been too nervous to do in San Francisco, and during all of those final days in high school: I asked her out.

We dated for a solid year before I mustered up enough courage to propose. She was ecstatic, which made me feel a whole lot better about what had otherwise turned me into a nervous wreck. We married five months later in a ceremony that was (of course) orchestrated entirely by her sisters.

Now, the two of us live together in a small home in the suburbs of New Orleans. I still suffer from occasional nightmares about my childhood, but other than that I'm doing okay.

Misty was the one who convinced me to write all of this down. She told me that it would help with the nightmares. And, in fact, it has. Finally having the opportunity to express my thoughts and memories in a way that I never could in speech has helped me more than I ever could have imagined.

"Ash?"

I looked up from my pad as my wife hugged me from behind. I felt her chin on my head as she murmured, "Writing again, hm?"

I set the pen down. "Yeah. I couldn't sleep."

She moved away from me and pulled out a chair. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

I shook my head and yawned. "Everything I have to say is stuff you've heard before." I slumped down in the chair, suddenly feeling tired again. "So what got you up?"

She gave a half-hearted laugh. "The baby was crying, so I got up and fed him. I was just about to go back to bed when I saw the light was on down here."

I glanced at the clock. 3:00 A.M. "You should go back to bed."

"Me? If anyone should be going to bed, it's you."

"You have to work tomorrow."

"So do you."

"Not until ten."

"You have to take Carlon to daycare at seven."

"Then I'll sleep afterwards."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you can't sleep now, too."

I sighed. "You're not going to give it up, are you?"

She smirked. "Nope."

I gave her an exasperated look. "Okay, okay. You can have your way. I'll be up in a few minutes."

She smiled and got back up. "Thank you." She kissed me on the forehead before heading back upstairs.

I watched her go before gettin up myself. I took my pad and pen and put them in their usual place on the counter. As I went to go upstairs, I caught sight of the first family picture we'd taken after Carlon's birth.

It was hard for me to believe that Misty and I had made something so beautiful together. Carlon was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. I know that sounds cheesy or cliché, but it's true. Knowing that Carlon was mine, that I was his father; that was the best feeling in the world.

I know that I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. I do and say things that are less than desirable more often than I'd like to admit. But I do try my best, and I've learned to live with my flaws. There are things in my life that I regret, and memories that are best left buried. But I also have many good memories, of myself and Misty, and now of Carlon.

Who knows what's down the road for me? I imagine that Misty and I will spend many years together, and maybe we'll add a couple more little ones to the family sometime in the future. I'll see all of my children off to college, or to wherever they wish to go.

But for now, I've got a job and a five month old to worry about.

And that's just fine with me.


End file.
